


Ascension: Dream State Armageddon

by theescapist99



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Religious Themes, and percival cant sleep, at least not very much, based loosely on dantes inferno, i dont think itll be that dark actually, i think this one might even have a happy ending, nine circles of hell and what not, percival and credence didnt know each other before the movie, yet credence is living with percival anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10776900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: Credence's night terrors have been keeping Percival up at night and frankly he's tired of it. Queenie informs him of an experimental potion that allows someone to explore the dreamscape of someone troubled by nightmares -- and while Percival generally looks down on such methods of alternative magic.. he can't deny he's curious.What manner of phantoms will Percival find in the deepest, darkest corners of Credence's dream state?





	1. Intro

Percival couldn't remember the last good night's sleep he's had.  

At least, not since he's moved in with Credence Barebone -- whose nightmares were evidently a destructive force all on their own.  

It was a little hard getting some shut eye when the boy's distressed squeals and screams came seeping in through the cracks of the wall which separated the guest and master bedroom every few hours. And Percival – paranoid as he had come to be by nature – would come running to make sure that it wasn't more than the imaginary haunts of Credence's dreams that was causing the boy to fret. 

It got to a point where Percival insisted that Credence sleep in his room, while Percival found a place to sleep on the shag carpet floor. Credence was hesitant, and Percival had to nearly make a command of it – but he declined to mention that it wasn't for entirely selfless reasons. Percival stopped short of informing Credence that his nightly episodes were taking a toll on Percival's own shut eye -- knowing the boy, Credence would likely take it far more personally than he had meant.  

Unfortunately –  the addition of a roomie did not seem to quell Credence's nightmares any after all.  

The only factor that now changed was that Percival was in a much closer range to hear the whimpers and groans and all the other noises that should never be so familiar to someone so young. The only good thing to come of it was that Percival only had to move a few inches in order to reach up and shake Credence awake rather than come running from the next door down.  

"I don't know what to do about this kid's damn nightmares," Percival openly vented to Queenie at MACUSA one day as she helped him work on a backlog of overdue paperwork, "He seems to have them every fucking night..." 

"Oh poor dear," Queenie sighed sympathetically.  

"Seriously," Percival mumbled, "I haven't gotten a decent nights sleep for as long as I can remember..."  

"I wasn't talking about you, you self-centered jerk!" Queenie snapped at him suddenly, and Percival felt a twinge of embarrassment realizing that Queenie had been indeed referring to the boy.   

The blonde shook her head tiredly, "Well... what has he been dreaming about?" 

"I don't know," Percival admitted, "I haven't asked him."  

"This has been going on for this long, and you haven't even talked to him about it?" Queenie gasped, shooting Percival a scolding look.  

Percival winced under the woman's condescending gaze -- a look from Queenie Goldstein he was rarely on the receiving end of -- but somehow Percival still managed to feel defensive. 

"It's not exactly a conversational subject, Queenie," Percival grunted back in response.  

Queenie just shook her head again, apparently uninterested in dignifying that with an answer.  

Of course, Percival knew the gal was right (as always) -- the simplest and obvious thing to do was probably have a talk with the boy.  

They might even get at the root of what's been eating at Credence so frequently.  

Unfortunately, Percival never cared to go the "let's explore our feelings" route – not even when it  _was_ the simplest solution.  

Perhaps knowing this or taking advantage of one of those rare moments where Percival had a weakened mental barricade due to inner conflicts – Queenie did not bother to press her point but instead suggested, "You know there is a way you can sort of jump into his dream state and see what might be bugging him. You might actually be able to intervene or alter things depending on what the dream is about."  

"Seriously?" Percival paused in the middle of his own filing, turning to his right to look at Queenie fully, "I've never heard of that before."  

It shouldn't come as a shock – this was the kind of experimental, shady magic that Percival generally dismissed as a bunch of hooey. Yet he trusted Queenie – and Percival knew if it was something she was suggesting, it was something she had some degree of faith in. 

"It's a new potion," Queenie explained, "Primarily used for children and child rearing... although I haven't seen anything that says it can't work on adults."  

"What does the potion need?" Percival asked, interest piqued.  

"To be honest I'm not sure of the exact recipe, Mr. Graves," Queenie said, "I only know of someone who is in the business of making the potion for a price... and also he would need an object that the person regularly sleeps with... like a teddy bear or a blanket. Should I take it that you're interested in the service then?"  

Percival considered the idea.  

It did seem rather needlessly complicated – at least for something that he had no actual guarantee would solve his problems.  

Even if he did find out what ailed the boy's sleep, he still wasn't sure that he could even do anything about it.  

And anyone who knew anything about their history probably didn't have to think hard in order to guess what it was Percival might see in Credence's dreams – in all likelihood, the boogeyman under the boy's bed probably resembled his image in some shape or form. 

 Percival knew that – but instead of the idea deterring him like it would with most, a sort of morbid curiosity compelled Percival to go through with it instead.  

"Yes," he answered Queenie with a curt nod.  

* * *

 

It had been a swift setup, and very soon Percival was stretched out in his own armchair eyeing the transparent flask that held a nearly golden liquid inside it. 

It came with a handwritten letter of instruction, which emphasized that all of the potion must be drunk for it to work properly.  

One dose was worth approximately eight hours of what the instructions referred to as:  

" _ascension into the_ _dream_ _stat_ _e_ ". 

The instructions explain that every person's dreamstate consists of nine plateaus ranging from dreams with shallow/literal meanings to your deepest darkest nightmares. 

This reminded Percival morbidly of the nine circles of hell from Dante's Inferno – but thankfully he had no belief in religion and was able to put it to nothing more than a funny coincidence.  

When Percival had asked, Queenie had explained that the potion creates a temporary bond between the person it is meant for and the person who performs the ascension – it is designed to intertwine the two parties, and as such Credence would not be able to wake before the ascension is over.  

She also explained that to eliminate a person in the dreamstate so that they could not appear in Credence's dreams again --- Percival would have to slit the throats of their dreamstate manifestation with a unique dagger, which come provided with the potion.  

At the end of the letter, there were a few final warnings:  

 _During ascension, both your physical bodies will be on standby so it is of utmost importance_ _that you are both in a safe_ _environment_ _where no one untrustworthy might reach you._  

 _Be advised that while nothing can actually harm you in the dreamstate, things may appear extremely vivid and the individual who ascends should not be faint of heart._  

 _D_ _ue to the risks to anyone involved, ascension into the dreamstate should not be_ _performed_ _often._  

 _Good luck._  

Percival reread the letter a few more times before Credence made his way into the bedroom for the night. Percival was thankfully quick in tucking the items away before the boy noticed any unusual objects in the room.  

Credence looked tired himself, and anyone who may have less of an understanding of their situation might wonder whatever for.  

Percival had insisted that he did not need to find any work, and that Percival had more than enough income to support them both (which he did).  

After it was established that Credence had no financial expectations to fulfill, Credence had tried to busy himself with house work until Percival had told him that that was not necessary either.  

Maybe it  _was_ a little cruel to deprive Credence of things to fill his time with -- but quite frankly Percival was just always so afraid that any simple errand or task might simply cause the boy to break in half.  

He still seemed terribly fragile for someone capable of so much destruction.  

And yet despite the open schedule and lack of pressures – the boy still closed each day looking like he had just fought his way out of a dragon filled pit.  

It was the invisible dragons that lived in his head that Credence wrestled with all day – dragons that breathed guilt and shame rather than fire and flame.  

They were the dragons that Percival hoped to find and slay over the course of this adventure. 

"All ready for bed, my boy?" Percival sounded casual as he watched Credence slip under the comforter.  

"Yes, Mr. Graves," Credence shot him a weary smile that seemed rather forced, but Percival was grateful for it anyway.  

"Are you sure it's okay that I take your bed?" 

The boy asked this every single night.  

Percival's answer had never been anything other than yes, so to continue to have to repeat himself was getting a bit tedious – but Percival understood that the boy was merely feeling guilty for the possibility that he was burdening the older man.  

"Of course, Credence," Percival smiled at him in what he hoped was a reassuring way.  

Credence nodded slightly,meekly.  

"Sleep well then," Percival told him before he turned over on his side, facing the wall on his makeshift cot. 

He closed his eyes and pretended to drift off, which was not a hard task for anyone who didn't snore.  

And it was not long after – maybe half past midnight – that Percival heard the first soft whimper flit through the darkness of their bedroom... and he knew it was time.  


	2. Plateau One: The Faceless Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.”   
> ― Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

A few minutes following the consumption of the potion and the odd out-of-body feeling that followed, Percival found himself in what appeared to be a wand shop.  

Except... it wasn't like any wand shop Percival had ever seen in his life.  

First of all, it was spacious and organized – qualities that no wand shop shared on any continent.  

The wands the lined the walls were very plain looking – more like regular sticks and twigs rather than the elaborate or simplistic but smooth design of even the most basic of magical wands.  

They were all laid out on shelves, each stick resting on clean and shiny individual metal stands – in contrast to  the battered shoeboxes that wands were normally kept in.  

Initially when Percival looked over the sales counter, it had been unattended. However... after he  had had a minute to observe his surroundings, Percival turned to see that there was now someone standing behind it.  

But...  _was it_ someone?  

Percival's eyes widened as he realize with a jolt of horrified surprise that the "person" he was looking at did not have a face.  

They had arms, legs, a torso – all the other components of a humanoid body. However where their nose, eyes, and mouth should have been... there was only a flesh colored blur – smooth and circular.  

The blur mixed well with the skin tone of the rest of it's body – an even complexion of peach shade, the same skin you'd expect to see on any caucasian person. It was though they had used some kind of makeup to cover their features, although there was no protrusions where the nasal bones should have been or crevices around the standard locations for lips and eyes. 

There weren't even ears – nor a single hair anywhere on the head.  

If Percival didn't know any better, he might have thought it a mannequin. 

If not for the fact that was breathing. 

Even though it lacked a nose or nostrils... the chest of the torso dressed in a simple white button up shirt rose and fell with a rhythm that resembled that of human breathing patterns, at the very least.    

"Can I help you?"  

The thing spoke at last – it's voice was male and deep, but otherwise unremarkable. Although... Percival couldn't help but notice a slight echo to the words -- however it was so subtle that it could have been imagined.  

There had been no movement where a pair of lips should have been, and Percival realized that the only reason he was certain that the voice came from the thing standing before him was the fact that they were the only two people present in the room.  

"Who are you?" Percival asked quietly, trying not to sound too shaken or revolted by it's appearance.  

 _Nothing in here can hurt you –_ Percival reminded himself of the letters warning, but somehow it did not help to slow the panicked breathing that seemed to be quickening by the second. 

It was hardly the fact that Percival had never seen anything more horrific than a faceless man before – Lord knows Percival Graves has seen much worse than that in his line of work.  

Yet something about the aura of the faceless individual – or quite possibly – the essence of the store itself made Percival feel dramatically unsettled, in a way that was both simultaneously unfamiliar and unpleasant.  

"I am the shopkeeper here," the faceless man asked, "I know you.. you're Mr. Graves, correct?" 

The faceless man actually sounded delighted, as though he were recognizing an old friend.  

Percival took a nervous step backward, before he answered, "Yes, but who are  _you_?" 

"I just told you," the faceless man said bluntly, "But why are you here alone... without the boy? Finally got rid of him, did you?"  

Percival had no idea what the man was talking about -- but he was certain who the faceless man was referring to and Percival still managed to feel insulted by the brash question.  

"Excuse me?" Percival hissed, "No, I have not gotten rid of Credence and I have no plans to." 

There was another beat of silence when the "shopkeeper" didn't seem to know what to say to that.  

After taking a deep breath in order to calm himself down (from what?), Percival broke it.  

"...I've been here with him before, I take it?" 

There was yet another pause, and it was difficult to tell what the faceless man was thinking considering he had no facial expressions to read. 

When the silence began to border on awkward, the faceless man seemed to sigh through a mouth he did not have. 

And he explained: "You and young Credence have visited my shop a couple of times before. I told you he was a squib straight off, but  _you_ insisted that he try out a few wands. Every single wand we have given the boy has rejected him. He's just not magical... I've tried to tell you that. Last time... you  _seemed_ to finally get it."  

Percival swallowed hard, "Last time?"  

"You two were in here, and I heard you tell the boy it was time to give up," the faceless man elaborated. Perhaps he may have given Percival a quizzical look before he asked, "Did you get bonked on the head or something Mr. Graves?"  

"No," Percival shook his head. 

Percival finally began to comprehend what he was seeing here: 

The first plateau was centered around Credence's fears of rejection from the magical world. 

It is not hard to imagine that Credence had – once or twice – contemplated the idea of owning a wand one day.  

And in all likelihood, who else would go with him other than Percival?  

It was somewhat of an unspoken part of their agreement that Percival would serve as Credence's guide into the wizarding world – and one of the first steps in any new wizard's journey was to find their wand.  

So – Percival realized – it was not a far stretch that perhaps a nightmare Credence sometimes experienced was a scenario where Percival and Credence would go to buy said wand... and Credence would repeatedly fail to bond with one.  

This would also explain the odd appearance of the shop – as Credence had never been in a wand store before, Percival's surroundings were likely merely what Credence  _imagined_ a wand shop to look like. 

How else can one envision places unseen... rather than to paint their own metal picture? 

As for the faceless man – well, how many people ever really worked out the facial features of the background characters of their nightly fantasies? 

This wand shop keeper was not a person at all – merely a prop to the scenario of one of Credence Barebone's many,  _many_ fears.  

The only people that ever likely mattered in this nightmare – the only people that  _truly_ existed -- was Credence and some probably much crueler vision of himself.  

Unlike the shopkeep, Percival could assume that  _he_ typically had a face – albeit a face that was frowning, or grimacing at Credence's failed efforts to live up to Percival's imagined expectations.  

Percival speculated that in these terrors he probably even had a visible set of teeth to grit -- and that Credence likely had a pair of eyes to cry with as he looked dejectedly upon the imaginary hardwood floor on which Percival now stood.  

"You alright, Mr. Graves?" The disembodied voice of the faceless man roused Percival from his spiraling thoughts – and Percival was almost grateful for it.  

The guilt that was churning his stomach over something he never even did had started to become unbearable.  

His head snapped back up and Percival looked upon the faceless man again. He opened his mouth to speak – but he stopped short when he realized he had nothing to say. 

How  _could_ he even fix this specific scenario? 

It wasn't time for the dagger – Percival knew that much.  

Both Queenie and the letter had forewarned him to use the enchanted blade sparingly and with much caution.  

 _"I've heard bad things can happen if you go around killing too many entities," Queenie had mentioned._  

 _"Like what?" Percival asked._  

 _"Honestly I don't know, Mr. Graves," Queenie shrugged... but her ignorance had seemed sincere, "That’s just what he told me."_  

Percival would have liked to simply assure himself that all he need do is to plan an actual trip to a wand shop in the future – he wished it were as easy as proving to Credence that this was a silly fear, and that he would find the right wand with some patience, just like any other wizard.  

Yet the unfortunate fact of the matter was that Percival had no idea if this was a silly fear or not.  

With the complication of the obscurus that still dwelled inside Credence -- as well as the lack of information on the magical lineage in the boy's ancestry – they still had yet to see if Credence  _would_ be able to control his magic enough to become compatible with a wand. 

Percival couldn't be sure this was an unfounded fear – or more like a realistic of prediction of things to come. 

Unfortunately -- he didn't get much more time to ponder this either way. 

Before Percival was anywhere near ready to actually complete the sentence he had started, the room around Percival abruptly began to shift.  

Suddenly, the floor that had felt solid and real seconds before gave way to a black hole of nothingness – but Percival still remained standing, seemingly floating in a room that appeared to be literally melting all around him.  

The rest of the shopkeep's body blurred into a confused mix of colors that were evaporating upward toward where there was a ceiling seconds earlier -- while the rest of the shop seemed to ripple and cascade downward into the floor of pitch black air.  

Percival grimaced. He realized he had run out of time.  

It only made sense – if a potion makes it so you only have a set amount of hours to feel it's effects, and those effects consist of various stages... each stage would  _probably_ have a time limit to it before giving way to the next.  

Once the "shop keep" had been entirely evaporated, the room seemed to be taking form again: 

This time the walls molded themselves into a setting that was much darker than the imagined wand store – with grey walls and cobwebs in tiny spaces.  

Once more, the out of body senssation Percival had initially experienced when drinking the potion seemed to kick in, and he was lightheaded.  

As he ascended to the second plateau -- Percival shrugged off the scene he had just left behind. 

He knew that much more fearsome beasts lay in wait on the road ahead.  


	3. Plateau Two: The Witch and The Puppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”   
> ― George Bernard Shaw, Immaturity

When he landed back on his feet – although Percival didn’t feel like he particularly moved from his original spot at all – he was in what appeared to be a dark and dusty apartment unit. It was a somewhat large apartment with two small floors -- but still not spacious enough to be a proper house.

In contrast to the neat and tidy wand shop Percival had just come from, this place was much more desolate and decrepit – but at least it looked more realistically like an apartment than the shop had been in likeness to an actual wand shop.

There were light fixtures -- but none of them were on, at least not from any room that Percival could see from where he stood.

Two large paned windows were visible from where Percival was still in the process of adjusting to an apparent gravity shift – one window was visible through an archway that lead into a kitchen, and the other curtain-less window could be found just above the incline of the short stairway that led up to the second floor.

Yet the sky outside looked dull and grey -- and Percival was unsure if it was from stormy/dreary weather or if perhaps the dream took place in that pregnant stage between late night and early dawn.

And so without either the aid of natural or artificial light, Percival had to strain his eyes to take in the details of his settings – something he had barely begun to manage when he heard a faint sob coming from the upper half of the stairway.

Percival wasn’t sure how he knew it was Credence… and yet he knew almost immediately.

Percival made his way towards the stairs slowly, looking around for switches for the lights (of which he could find none).

 The stairs turned slightly at the top before it turned into the carpet of the second floor… just enough so that something relatively small could hide behind the railway and manage to keep out of sight until you climbed the to the top of it.

Sure enough, Percival did find Credence at the top of that staircase… but just not quite the Credence he knew.

Technically, it was a variation of Credence – a small boy no older than perhaps four or five curled up into Credence’s trademark fetal position, his scabbed knees hugged tightly to his chest. A tiny head of black hair – scraggly and unkempt, yet still pre-bowl cut, fell around a head that tried to hide themselves in the embrace of his tiny arms.

“Credence?” Percival knelt down next to the boy at a distance, not wanting to startle the child that was already clearly distressed.

The boy lifted his head from his knees slowly -- and he turned to look at Percival with a tear soaked face and red rimmed eyes that looked _way_ too bloodshot for eyes belonging to someone so young.

“Who are you?” the boy whispered almost scathingly – and Percival could feel invisible guards surrounding the boy’s essence.

The child was afraid – but also defensive in a way Percival had never felt from the adult variation of Credence.

Perhaps, Percival thought miserably, Credence may have had some fight in him at some point. Some sense of self-preservation.

… back at some early age before Mary Lou beat it out of him.

“I’m… a friend,” Percival mumbles, unsure of what else to really call himself.

_Your future guardian?_

_Roommate?_

_The guy who indirectly caused you to implode on New York City?_

‘Friend’ seemed the simplest answer.

After all, Percival had to remind himself again – this wasn’t real.

The instructions had even assured him that the person whose dream state is explored would not remember the appearance of the ascender within their dreams… so really nothing said – nothing but the dagger, really – could leave any lasting imprint from the ascender’s visit.

“What is wrong, my boy… why are you crying?” Percival asked gently, unable to stop himself from using the affectionate wording when addressing even Credence’s phantasm.

Evidently, it had become a habit.

“Mommy and daddy had a fight…and now they won’t talk to me,” Credence moans woefully, the rims of his eyes beginning to spew fresh waterworks.

Percival ventured a gamble and he reached over, taking the boy’s small frame into his arms.

Unlike with the adult version of Credence – who was actually taller than Percival – the phantasm became nearly engulfed into the bulk of Percival’s body -- his already malnourished form trembling against the folds of Percival’s stomach.

The boy’s began to sob more openly, and Percival just sat there for a moment trying to cradle him while still keeping in mind that his time in the plateau was limited.

“There, there, love…” Percival hushed the child as he ran a hand down the small of Credence’s back, “I’m sure it’s not your fault. My parents fought all the time too.”

Although this Credence had no reason to trust Percival, or any idea who the older man was – Percival could not help but be both touched and saddened by the way the boy’s phantasm still seemed to relax at the simple, soothing strokes and caresses of his hands -- which were ironically only practiced in this area thanks to the grown version of the child he held in his arms.

Percival wondered how much different Credence’s life might have been – how different his personality might be, at least – had the boy had a single caring adult figure in his life.

Every child deserved at least one.

“I’ll go see what the problem is, okay?” Percival told the baby Credence quietly, heart already sinking as he was forced to pull the boy off him. “Where are they, my boy?”

Credence seemed to pale further – but he grabbed a hold of one of Percival’s hands and silently he began to lead Percival the rest of the way to the second floor.

It was a short walk down the hallway, with Credence leading Percival at the front.

Percival wanted to ask Credence to walk behind him a couple of times – but then had to remind himself that none of this was real, and therefore there was nothing to actually protect Credence from besides the monsters of his own memories.

Yet that train of thought led to another issue all together:

 _Was_ this a memory?

The wand shop plateau had been an illusion of things that have never actually happened… and it is no great secret to anyone who has ever dreamt that not _all_ nightmares stemmed from experienced events.

Plenty of No Maj’s had nightmares of dragons they have no idea actually exist… or killer clowns they’ve never encountered.

So while this by all means gave Percival the impression of a memory based dream – from the details of the apartment to the appearance of a baby version of Credence -- there was no way he could tell for certain if it _was_ a piece of Credence’s childhood… or if it was simply something Credence may have imagined life with his real family was like.

They reached the master bedroom, and the doorway was already part open.

Credence pointed inside it but stopped still in his tiny strides – he gestured into the room as though he were telling Percival to go ahead, and so he did.

Percival stepped forward -- his hand already reaching for the cooper hilt of the dagger he had stowed away in a coat pocket. He grasped the neck of it, but stopped short of pulling it out as Percival’s struggled to absorb and comprehend the macabre scene he had just walked into.

A man – presumably the father – hung from a noose made of thick rope. The top of it was secured tightly to the branch of a hanging chandelier.

His body dangled and swayed from the loop like a grotesque ragdoll guided by some invisible hand that nudged it repeatedly yet lazily.

A woman – presumably the mother – lay on the bed that the man’s corpse levitated over.

Her body – though conventionally beautiful and with slender legs that looked remarkably like Credence’s -- was stained with blood that bubbled and gushed from a gash in her throat that looked clumsily done, definitely the result of a struggle.

Even though Percival may be the director of security for the _wizarding_ community he knew the scene of a murder-suicide when he saw one… magical or not.

A word was painted on the woman’s forehead, difficult to make out as it appeared to be written from the same blood that seemed to spread out like tiny scattered ponds all over the bedroom.

_Witch._

And they too – these phantom corpses -- had blank canvases of skin where human faces should have been.

Could Percival kill phantasms that were apparently already dead?

Percival’s hand gripped tighter around the dagger’s hilt – feeling that his own hands had not only become drenched in sweat, but were also shaking violently.

Downstairs, Percival thought he could hear a door open and close – but still he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the frightful vision in front of him… something Percival might very well be the one having nightmares about for the days that followed this seemingly eternal night.

“He’s coming,” the small voice beside Percival snapped him out of his mortified trance, and he turned to look down on baby Credence who seemed already indifferent to the grisly scene.

“Who is?” Percival asked him, unable to stop the crack in his voice.

And nonchalantly – almost casually -- Credence looks up at him and he says:

“The Hand of God.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I actually managed to kind of freak myself out with my own writing


	4. Plateau Three: The Man Upstairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But the sun could sooner cease to shine than God cease to be God...The lovelessness of the damned blinds them to the light of glory in which they stand, the glory of God’s fire. God is in the fire that to them is Hell. God is in Hell, but the damned do not know Him.” 
> 
> ― Peter Kreeft, Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Heaven

On the third plateau, Percival met God. 

Literally.  

It was not in the metaphorical, symbolic, or poetic sense: after the third ascension, Percival found himself standing before a throned man who resembled the standard, generic idea of what Jesus Christ looked like. 

He was of a normal height and stature – but there was no mistaking the details of his features.  

Long brown hair that went down a little past his shoulders, baby blue eyes, a pale and unblemished complexion with a dash of light stubble tracing a sharp jawline, body dressed in simple white robes... 

At least  _this_ phantasm had a face.  

"Percival Graves," the man regarded him in a deep and booming voice that had the same slight echo the wand shop clerk's had, "Welcome, son."  

Percival squinted at the illusionary Christ before he turned his head this way and that in order to try and absorb the rest of his surroundings – but he found there wasn't much of anything to absorb.  

Aside from the elaborately crafted golden throne on which "God" was seated, they may as well have been floating in the thick of a cloudy sky on a bright summer's day.  

There was mostly just the color white everywhere that Percival could see – no walls, no corners, no structure – just pure and almost translucent  _white_.  

"Are you supposed to be Jesus?" Percival asked the deity, obviously unimpressed.  

His fingers – hand still over the hilt of the dagger that hid in his pocket – twitched.

This phantasm didn't seem all that malicious on the surface... but it  _would_ be kind of satisfying to kill God, even if it was just Credence's own twisted version.  

"I am," Jesus responded, smiling almost patiently, "And  _you_ are not supposed to be here, my son."  

Percival hesitated, caught off guard by the response that implied a self awareness he had yet to encounter in his experience thus far.  

Attempting to think quickly, Percival decided to play dumb. 

"How do you mean?"  

Jesus tilted his head upward --- his eyes still looking directly down at Percival in a condescending way that not even the Almighty should be entitled to.  

"My son, I am omniscient," he declared with unmistakable confidence, "I am as aware of your purposes here as I am aware of the dagger in your pocket which you are currently considering stabbing me with. You are here to help understand what it is that keeps Credence Barebone from having a restful night's sleep. Am I wrong?" 

Percival scowled, uncomfortable with the amount of knowledge the phantasm seemed to indeed possess.  

On one hand – the director tried to remind himself once again that this was all pure make believe.  

This was no more God than the wand shop had been a wand shop. 

On the other hand, however – is a dream state manifestation supposed to be self aware?  

Was it even possible for them to know this much?  

The other two (living) phantasms Percival had met thus far seemed pretty clueless, and the instructions had mentioned nothing about the possibility that a manifestation might actually know what was happening – especially before anything even happened.  

"If you know so much," Percival frowned at the pseudo Christ, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Then tell me... what is at the last plateau? What is it I will find there?" 

Percival hesitated another moment before he finally added: 

"...Is it me?"  

It  _was_ him... wasn't it? 

In truth, that was what Percival had always suspected to find all along.  

From the moment he had heard Queenie propose the idea – admittedly – Percival  _had_ imagined that at the deepest, darkest region of this demented wonderland... Percival would likely find himself standing face to face with some evil doppelganger which served as an embodiment of all the things Credence feared Percival to truly be beneath the surface.  

"Perhaps," God shrugged dismissively in response, " _Is_ that what you were hoping for? Is that why you came? Was your true goal here to slash the throat of the Percival Graves who mistreated this boy so cruelly, in some misguided bid for justice?"  

Percival had not thought of it  _that_ way – but when the words came to surface, the director could not deny it did make some sense. The raw honesty of the rather obvious notion made Percival's throat feel suddenly dry -- and he could not seem to revive it so that he could reply.  

Although what he would say in argument, Percival wasn't even sure.  

And God laughed heartily -- appearing to take pleasure in the way he had made Percival squirm.  

"You might as well slit your own throat now then," God's phantasm sneered, but the smile hadn't left his face, "As the Almighty, I can tell you that you are no different from your imposter, my son. You will hurt that boy just the same as he did... maybe a hundred times over." 

"You're wrong," Percival found his voice again as the blatant insult struck and strummed at his deepest nerves, "I am nothing like he was."  

"I  _am_ All-Knowing," Christ reminded him. 

"You don't even exist!" Percival spat back, "You're just some fucked up concept of a God that that bitch Mary Lou built up in his head." 

"Are you certain of that, Percival?" God damn near purred, his still smiling face contorting into something that resembled a serpent more so than any saint.  

"Somehow... the existence of an atheist wizard does seem like a bit of an oxymoron, does it not? Surely, a logical man such as  yourself can consider this objectively. If a world of magic, magic that not even  _you_ understand entirely, can exist... then why  _not_ religion? How do you spit in the face of an eternal afterlife, miracles, fables of a man who once turned water into wine... when you can do the very same yourself? When you've seen wonders and witnessed sights  _much_ stranger and much more unbelievable?"  

"Look you son of a bitch, I didn't come here for a religious lecture," Percival only hissed in return, unwilling to address the majority of God's jeering (but not entirely bad) questions, "I don't believe in  _any_ Gods... but of all the hundreds of versions of God and Jesus Christ and whatever the fuck out there, the kind Mary Lou preached was always made the least amount of sense, at least in my humble opinion. You're no God... just a tool that fear mongerers like  _her_ use to keep children like Credence in line. You're a joke." 

Percival's tone was vehement by the end of his tirade, but Christ appeared unfazed and unscathed by any word of it.  

The Lord still smiled as he replied softly – almost gently.  

"Kill me now then, my son. Take that dagger and slay me in my seat if you are so confident that this is nothing more than illusion... which I know you are, very much so. One day... once your time on earth is over... we will meet again anyhow. And after we speak, I will send you down to the fiery lakes where you belong... and Credence not long after you."  

And there it was: 

That moment – that  _epiphany –_ that occurred in each plateau, during which Percival finally understood what it was he was facing. This time, there were no corpses to find -- no gruesome or bloody aftermaths. This time, there had been no obvious scenario of typical dread and imagined worries. 

For all that Mary Lou had brainwashed Credence with since childhood, it should really come as no shock that God and His judgment should be a frightening enough concept.  

The entity that was used by much of humanity as a source of comfort and sanity – the concept of a benevolent God --  had long been used against Credence like a gun to a hostage's head. A common idea that should have helped to give his life purpose had been used by Mary Lou to instill fear and obedience rather than faith and  perspective. 

"But she wasn't wrong," God interjected suddenly, somehow able to read Percival's thoughts even as an façade. "Credence was born of evil from the start, which is why the obscurus sought him out. Mary Lou was never wrong to reject him. Look now, after losing her guidance and wisdom, how the boy falls into a life of sin and unbidden lust."  

" _Lust_?" Percival can't help but question, unable to stop himself from honing in on the word as soon as it left God's lips. "...What lust are you fucking talking about?"  

"Homosexuals are all doomed to condemnation," God grinned even wider then, "...but I'm sure I don't have to tell  _you_ that, Percival."  

"Fuck off," Percival growled, and finally he stepped forward and yanked the dagger from his pocket.  

The Lord did not stop him as he brought down the blade and plummeted it's length into God's chest.  

The Almighty only looked amused -- even as the skin around the blade's shaft began to ripple and widen, given way to what should have been flesh and organs.  

Percival wasn't sure if he was expecting blood... but what he had  _not_ expected was the golden colored sand that gushed out of the fresh wound as he finally yanked the dagger back.  

Percival looked up at the face of God, whose expression was still smug even after a fair amount of the golden sand had cascaded from where the dagger landed it's blow. 

The lack of reaction infuriated Percival further, and he plunged the dagger into the center of God's belly. More sand emerged.   

This time Percival retracted the blade sooner, and he stepped back as the sand became plentiful and began to pool around God's throne like the floor of an hourglass. He still wasn't sure what the stuff was... but either way he did not want to get any of it on himself.  

"I suppose since this means Credence and I won't be seeing each other any longer," God lamented as he finally seemed to come apart a whole. Whereas the shimmering dust had only  been bleeding through his wound -- God's fingers and feet had begun to melt away beginning at their tips and he had begun to dissolve before Percival's very eyes in an upward succession that was almost mesmerizing, "...I will leave it to you Percival, to remind him of the lessons that his mother taught him. He is living a wretched life, and only divine forgiveness can save his soul now... and most importantly, he will never find that salvation while living with the likes of  _you_."  

"Burn in hell!" Percival seethed through gritted teeth at the God, whose bottom half was now entirely a heap of sand, and whose upper body still seemed to float in mid air as the rest of it continued to fall away, "And while you're there, send Mary Lou my regards."  

God still managed to get the last word -- however -- as he quipped before completely disintegrating: 

 "Worry not my son... you will have the opportunity to do so yourself not long from now."  

And then He was gone -- and Percival nearly smiled at the notion that God had died by his hand.  

As soon as the last particle descended from where the very top of God's scalp had just been, the white surroundings changed instantly into a void of pitch black.  

It was very unlike the plateaus Percival had traveled through, where he had not harmed the phantasms that dwelled within -- in those plateaus, the transitions to and from had happened through whirls of rippling and confused colors.  

This time – as the gravity seemed to slip away from underneath Percival's feet once more – there was simply nothing.  

All around him was unbroken darkness... Percival found himself suspended in a quiet nothingness, much like the eternal state of every mortal life come to an end.  

Of that much – at least --  Percival was still certain.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry we'll be back to the awful things next chapter.


	5. Plateau Four: The Minotaur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The architecture of the Minotaur’s heart is ancient. Rough hewn and many chambered, his heart is a plodding laborious thing, built for churning through the millennia. But the blood it pumps—the blood it has pumped for five thousand years, the blood it will pump for the rest of his life—is nearly human blood. It carries with it, through his monster’s veins, the weighty, necessary, terrible stuff of human existence: fear, wonder, hope, wickedness, love. But in the Minotaur’s world it is far easier to kill and devour seven virgins year after year, their rattling bones rising at his feet like a sea of cracked ice, than to accept tenderness and return it.” 
> 
> ― Steven Sherrill, The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so... I know I have this nasty habit of tagging things a bit more lightly than I should. 
> 
> Its not honestly intentional, but sometimes I do hesitate to say something is "really super super dark" because I know there's actually others like me out there that actually SEEK dark material and might be disappointed by the level of explicit that the story actually has to offer. 
> 
> Then again I think the number one comment I most often get is "wow I did not expect ___ to happen" so I guess like I've discussed with a likeminded friend and fellow fic writer... I do think we sometimes just forget that there are many "shades of dark" (lol) and not everyone is picturing the same one we are... so that could be a factor. 
> 
> ALL THAT being said this chapter is... pretty bad. 
> 
> Probably one of the more gruesome things I've written out... and keep in mind that my level of "this is dark" has constituted cannibalism on more than one occasion. 
> 
> Maybe you won't think so, and I'm just going to sound silly here.
> 
> But just for this chapter, I'm going to say it anyway:
> 
> Dead Credence: Do Not Eat
> 
> Seriously, the pedophilia and rape that I was referring to in the archive warnings happens in the same chapter... specifically this chapter... and it is VERY detailed. 
> 
> I mean I've touched on child rape before but never quite on this level. 
> 
> Sooo... sorry if I just ruined it by saying all that now, or if you read this chapter and it ends up being fluff compared to what I'm making it sound like right now...
> 
> Just trying to not get in trouble on this one. ;)
> 
> (But seriously if you've been reading my stuff for a while now, it's not THAT bad -- this warning was more for readers who are unfamiliar with my definition of dark haha.)

The fourth phantasm had a face.

But it was not a human one – which, in hindsight, was fitting for all the atrocities that Percival would come to watch this beast commit.

When the darkness finally abated, it did so only slightly -- just enough for Percival to realize he was no longer in the limbo between dreams – and he was still unsure until Percival actually felt the soles of his feet land on a surface he had technically never moved from.

Dull, faint streaks of grey light broke through the black by means of windows that Percival could not see. They provided preview of commonplace objects that sat on shelves and tables – things like vases and ashtrays, although Percival could already see that some of these were broken and chipped. Also the objects were cluttered and piled into heaps, like mounds of trash you might expect to find in an old storage shed or a dumpster.

For a few seconds the director wondered if he might be back at the apartment unit. However, it did not take much more to realize that this place was darker than the apartment had been.

That thought was cemented when Percival had turned to inspect the wall behind him -- only to be greeted with the sight of one hell of a wall decoration.

There was an upside down cross hanging on the lazily on the wooden south wall, dangling by an old and large nail that had been hammered only halfway in through what should have been the crosses’ bottom end.

Although Percival was not religious – with the memory of the last plateau still reeling in his mind, the façade of Jesus still burned in his vision – he could not help but take a step backwards, nearly falling in the process as he felt his ankles catch around unseen clutter that littered the floor.

With the adjustment of the subtle movement, Percival’s eyes fell on another thing just below the cross – something far more unholy than any blasphemous symbolism, something much more wretched than what mortal eyes should ever be allowed to look upon:

It was a Minotaur.

A body that was humanoid in all its extremities and limbs, unremarkable in its torso and pelvis – but from the neck up, instead of the disquieting absence of facial features or the smiling face of a sadistic God – there was a massive bull’s head, with pointed horns extending from both sides of its scalp.

The enormous head bobbed up and down almost rhythmically -- the bull’s eyes half lidded in some kind of blissful stupor.

Although its composition was humanoid from the neck down, the limbs still appeared to be abnormally long by the standards of typical human anatomy. Percival could see that from the way its arms were outstretched – skinny and crooked like flesh colored vines. Hands with skeletal fingers grasped tightly around something small and wet looking, squeezing down on a fleshy mass as though it were trying to see if it might pop.

It bounced the disfigured lump up and down its lap, directly over its groin which was exposed along with everything else.

The Minotaur’s body was entirely naked -- the dull lighting giving some shine to the sweat with which he was drenched.

Percival crept closer -- and it was surprising that he stayed silent to The Minotaur -- as the floor beneath Percival loudly creaked at the slightest movement, along with sharp clinks and shuffles as the unseen clutter shifted along his path.

Percival then heard something else -- it was that ugly sound of flesh clapping against flesh, and the subtle squishing of bodily fluids melding together that came with intercourse between mammals.

At the closer view, Percival found that The Minotaur was definitely in the process of fucking something… someone… with streaks of blood staining its perineum and the stink of shit and iron beginning to waft and flicker across Percival’s nostrils.

Yet whatever it was that The Minotaur guided up and down a shaft of a large and engorged penis –almost animal in its own way – it was not the size of another adult, which is probably _why_ Percival’s mind was having such a hard time comprehending what he was seeing… when objectively it should not have been all that difficult to figure out.

“Credence…” Percival whispered to himself breathlessly, his heart feeling as though it had abruptly frozen up and broken away -- like glass shattering from the magnitude of a powerful exploded bomb.

It was the child version of Credence that Percival had encountered in the second plateau, Percival had realized with an intense horror unlike anything he had ever felt in the history of his long and exhausting life.

Credence was sobbing and yowling loudly from his pain -- but The Minotaur paid no mind.

It thrust the inhumanly wide girth of its erect cock into the opening of Credence’s underdeveloped bottom with unreserved force -- force that would almost certainly break an adult’s body in half.

“Sweet boy,” The Minotaur spoke in a voice that sounded almost as though it belonged to an elderly man, “Do not weep my child. Receive your penance, and you will be cleansed. God’s hand works in _many_ ways.”

 “ _No_ …” the baby Credence squawked defiantly, his eyes screwed shut.

The cheeks on his face – much rounder in his childhood – were flushed a deep red, possibly from sheer exhaustion. It was a wonder how the boy managed to even stay conscious, but perhaps escape by means of collapsing was not an option in the dream state.

“Shhh…” The Minotaur hushed him, nuzzling Credence’s tear soaked face with its snout --the gesture was almost motherly.

Through the beast’s mouth, a cow’s tongue emerged… slobbering with thick saliva that dripped from its underside. The Minotaur leaned into Credence further, and it used the enormous tongue to lick and nip at the tiny pink nipples that barely budded from Credence’s naked chest.

And still even as The Minotaur nipped and bit playfully at them – it’s tongue now exploring any other inches of the infantile body it could reach – its pelvis did not slow in the rhythmic movements of vicious thrusts.

The shaft churned and twisted inside Credence violently, seeming determined to pump out the contents inside like a plunger to a toilet. A variety of putrid smelling bodily fluids had formed a dark puddle of waste on the patch floor between The Minotaur’s spread thighs, and just below Credence’s small and sodomized body.

If Percival could vomit while he was in ascension, he probably would have done so by now – a thousand times over.

But instead, at this terrible moment, Percival could only seem to stay stock still for much longer than would ever be proud of – too petrified by the vision, to terrified himself -- to so much as move.

There is only so much that the mental state of any human man can take – wizard, No Maj, government official, atheist, Christian or whatever other titles are out there.

There is no one that didn’t have a limit -- no matter how numb to emotion they believed themselves to be.

That sweet lifeline of trying to remember that this wasn’t real – that this was all illusion – seemed now forgotten in light of the horrendous vision. Knees literally shaking and struggling to stay upright, Percival simply could not remember where he was or what he was doing any longer.

Percival believed – it was finally now – that he had reached a breaking point.

The director who had been in command of many grisly crime scenes over the years -- who had committed many heinous acts himself, under the guise of doing his job – had now seen something more sinister than himself. And for the first time, Percival found himself considering that there may be a hell after all… and somehow the potion had killed him and sent him there instead.

Percival was still rigid with terror… and The Minotaur who by all means should have noticed him some time ago only continued its rape of the undeserving child – this child who would grow up to be the young man sleeping a few feet away from Percival in reality.

…Maybe this was more of a nightmare than a memory.

Maybe it was no more a memory then that dream in Percival’s youth which he still remembered; where he had dreamt the undead had risen and killed everyone in the world except for himself.

But somehow… despite the vagueness of their location and the supernatural and surreal appearance of the man that ravaged Credence’s phantasm with merciless ferocity… somehow Percival didn’t think so.

Percival could recall the violated look Credence sometimes had on his face– on those nights where Percival would wake him from his thrashing, and Credence would look down and see Percival’s hand still lingering on Credence’s thigh from trying to wake him -- and Percival could remember how the boy’s body would always curl into itself just a _bit_ further.

The thought had crossed Percival’s mind before.

And perhaps… if Credence had merely admitted to having been sexually abused in the past – if he had just blurted it out verbally in the middle of some heavy conversation --Percival might not have had such a devastated, shocked reaction.

But to _see_ it…

 …to _see_ the catalyst to the death of a childhood, the gruesome theft of Credence’s virginity -- that was something Percival’s mind had _never_ been prepared to bear witness to, no matter what demons he had expected to find lurking in the darkness of Credence’s mind.

Finally, then, the boy noticed him.

In the middle of agonized wails and high pitched screams that had reached no one when this moment actually occurred at some point in time – Credence turned to Percival and he sobbed, “ _Please mister, help me!_ ”

Percival’s body reacted to Credence’s plea like a conditioned response -- and it forced itself to reanimate.

He took a deep breath… swallowing his own sorrow to be dealt with another time.

Quicker than The Minotaur could notice his approach, Percival grabbed Credence and yanked the boy off of him in a single motion. The child’s body fell to the ground almost as soon as Percival lifted him, as it was hard to maintain his grip when Credence’s skin with lathered in blood, shit, sweat, tears, and animal slobber.

The Minotaur roared – a loud and guttural sound that was much deeper and more carnal sounding than the human voice Percival had just heard moments before. Every bone in Percival’s body trembled at the low and savage whine– but Percival knew he could not afford to let fear overtake him for a moment longer.

Pouncing like a beast himself, Percival lunged toward the thing, which in response lowered its grotesque head so that Percival might be greeted with the tips of its sharp pointed horns.

Yet Percival’s Auror instincts had at least recovered somewhat, and he was able to duck in time – crouching down so that he was able stab the dagger into any exposed skin it could reach.

And he stabbed, and stabbed – and Percival stabbed again.

Percival just slashed and ripped blindly at the thing -- paying no mind to the golden sand that exploded and now covered them both.

Unlike God, the thing struggled and writhed beneath him – but Percival enlisted all his building rage and fury and was able to overpower the horrendous abomination.

He didn’t stop until the dagger was only cutting at cloudy air and piles of golden ash – and even then Percival continued to try to drive the blade into a throat that was no longer underneath within reach of his sweating palms.

As he panted and dry heaved, Percival could suddenly feel the pounding of his heart against his ribcage again.

However -- with the phantasm slain -- the plateau had already begun to fall away once more.

“No!” Percival screamed from frustration, also now realizing that he was sobbing heavily.

He turned to Credence – that child variation of Credence who was neglected and ignored by everything good in the world – and the small boy still lay prone, naked and bloodied a few feet away. He might have thought the boy was dead if not for the way the barely distinguishable lump shuddered and trembled so violently on the dirty ground.

 Percival crawled to the mass -- reaching out in a desperate attempt to do something for him before he ascended again.

As to what could even be done, however, Percival honestly had no ideas.

At the moment, the director knew that it was just his one true heart’s desire to find some way to help Credence – to do _something_.

But this plateau vanished as quickly as the last dream state had – Credence’s childhood phantasm along with it.

And then… all Percival could do was cry.

He sobbed, he screamed, and Percival flailed around from the overpowering helplessness. He kicked hard – and the point of his boot landed on nothing except the empty air of the space between dreams.

Nothing in there can hurt you, they had told him.

Perhaps that was still true... Percival doubted that he would wake in the morning with any visible cuts or bruises.

The safety of his sanity, however…

…well, no one ever said anything about that.

 


	6. Plateau Five: The Homeless Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wanted to tell her that I loved her, and not in the complicated way I loved our parents, but in a simple way I never had to think about. I loved her like breathing.”   
> ― Brenna Yovanoff, The Replacement

Percival was going to be insane by the end of this, and he was certain of it. 

In all honesty, some part of him wished he could undo the ascension.  

A small voice in the deepest parts of his own mind scolded him for not taking this decision more seriously – for the fact that Percival ignored something already known to him: 

Some doors were simply meant to remain closed.  

Plus -- there was also the matter of privacy.  

Sure, Credence wasn't supposed to remember Percival's intrusion – but could Percival say with total and complete certainty that he would ever be able to look at Credence quite the same?  

Or that the boy might not notice a change in attitude? 

Percival treated Credence rather gently by typical Percival Graves standards already – but Percival was still Percival, and on particularly bad days Percival could not deny having snapped at Credence once or twice.  

Kid gloves were just never quite Percival's style.  

What Credence seemed to need was something  _beyond_ kid gloves, however.  

As to what that thing was, Percival couldn't say for sure.  

But if even most of what he had seen so far was true – if there were still worst fears to be dealt with ahead, on top of it all – then Percival could only say that it was something far greater than he was equipped to deal with. 

While it was true that in this nightmare labyrinth, Percival might be able to save Credence from a few nocturnal terrors and frights – that didn't stop the boy from remembering that they existed outside of the dreamstate, even if they only did so in pretense. 

If these events ever did occur, Percival could do  _nothing_ to protect Credence from the fact that they still lurked in his memories – nightmares that Credence would remain vulnerable to even in his waking moments.  

* * *

"Modesty?"  

Percival did a double take.  

A blonde girl -- a bit older than Percival had remembered Modesty Barebone but with all the same features – crouched down with her back against the brick wall of what appeared to be a rather dark alleyway.  

The girl looked up at him, and then jumped up loudly as though she had been stung. As she bolted upright, Percival saw that she was dressed in rags – a dirty set of white blouse and skirt that looked to be made of the thinnest fabric possible.  

Her eyes growing wide, she gawked at Percival almost fearfully. 

"It's  _you_."  

At the utterance of the vague statement Percival observed that Modesty's mouth was completely devoid of teeth --- and Percival could not help but wince at the gums that were tinted a dark shade of black.  

"What... what do you mean? Who do you think I am?" Percival asked the girl skeptically.  

He only recognized Modesty from MACUSA's watchful eye over the Second Salemers, but he couldn't recall actually meeting her before. Percival did not believe that Modesty had any reason to recognize him at all -- let alone address him with such a disdainful tone or such a frightful look. 

"You were with  _him_ ," Modesty hissed.  

Her bare and calloused feet inched backwards as she spoke, but when she remembered that there was solid wall behind her, Modesty seemed to start stepping sideways – her body language made it clear that she wanted to get away from Percival as soon as possible. "You were with Credence."  

"I was?" Percival cocked his head. He was still highly confused, but he still tried to keep a gentle and inquisitive tone to help convince the girl that he meant no harm... at least not yet.  

Percival remembered Credence being fond of his sister, and quite frankly he wasn't sure if this was a situation that called for the dagger or not.  

"You came to take me with you," Modesty shook her head, and Percival could see tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, "I don't know what happened... but you upset him... you upset Credence and then he destroyed  _everything_."  

"Modesty, I never..." Percival started but quickly he stopped himself.  

This was probably one of those night terrors based on delusions and fear rather than accurate memory.  

Obviously, Modesty was insane in this plateau... or something or other.  

But...  _was_ that it? 

Would Credence frequently envision a Modesty who was simply crazy, and on top of that place it at a higher plateau than having been raped as a child?  

"He abandoned me!" Modesty suddenly started shrieking before Percival could say anything else.  

Similar to The Minotaur's roar it was an unearthly sound, and it had more of a likeness to a hag's scream than a young girl's.  

Tears now freely streaming down her face, Modesty shuddered, "After Credence vanished I had nowhere to go. I had to sell myself for food, I even got pregnant... and I had to kill it just so I can keep feeding myself. And it's all his fault... and I know  _you_ had something to do with it you evil fiend!"  

Percival sighed heavily, the priority of this terror beginning to make a little more sense. 

Because of course Credence -- as selfless as the boy was -- would be more haunted by the idea that his sister faced abuse due to his actions rather than some of the abuse Credence had had to face himself.  

"It wasn't his fault, Modesty," was all Percival could think to say, "He didn't have a choice. Your brother... he was sick. He was sick, but he  _is_ better now. I don't know what you think  _I_ did, but I'm doing my best to help him." 

And he was surprised to hear Modesty laugh at that – a snort that was humorless and scornful.  

"Lies," she glared, "Back when you came for me, I heard you tell him that you were done with him." 

"That never happened," Percival shook his head immediately, but he couldn't help but wonder why he was even defending himself against something he had dismissed as a baseless accusation already.  

"It did," Modesty insisted, "And then you came to me and told me that you were here with Credence... to not be afraid... but  _why_ do you think I didn't go with you mister? I heard what you said back there, I heard you call him worthless because of some bullshit about ancestry. And you expected me to trust you? Fuck off!"  

And then realization finally reared it's ugly head, and Percival felt yet another small shard of his heart fall off and disappear into the void. 

"That... wasn't me, Modesty," Percival tried to assure her, "That was a bad man who stole my identity through magic and..." 

He trailed off midsentence. 

How the fuck was he supposed to make this sound believable to a No Maj with no knowledge of the magical world? 

"It's very complicated," Percival settled on what he knew was a weak explanation simply because he knew he would be running out of time in this plateau soon. He wanted to try to reassure her before he left in the hopes that it might reassure Credence indirectly.  

Maybe if Modesty's phantasm felt more comfortable -- Credence might have more pleasant encounters with her in future dreams.  

Maybe Modesty's memory didn't have to stay a nightmare. 

"Just know that everything is okay now. Credence is better, he's living wih me, I care about him very much and..." 

He hesitated to say it, but Percival wasn't sure how else to put the phantasm's mind at ease. 

"...I promise soon I will look for you and if I find you and you're still on the streets, you can come live with us. You deserve a happy home too, Modesty." 

And he meant that last part, even though Percival knew he already had too full of a plate.  

It was actually rather pathetic. 

When the hell did he become such a hero? 

Sure, he played a hero as part of his job as director – but Percival had hardly ever been the type to take in hungry stray dogs, let alone children – and especially not on his personal time. But if it might help Credence... 

Modesty actually looked to be considering the offer, and her features went just a bit softer.  

It was only for those short few seconds that Percival  _truly_ recognized her: that somewhat creepy but still well mannered little girl that was the only person to willingly hold Credence's hand in his childhood. Percival could tell that like her brother, she would have been quite beautiful if allowed a proper lifestyle. 

However, Modesty shook her head.  

"Well it's too late for that," Modesty lamented, "Credence came looking for me weeks ago. I was already dead, killed by a customer. If you really lived with him, I'd think you'd have known that mister."  

And all around them, the walls began to melt away.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for those who are worried i really think plateau four was like the most gruesome/violent/graphic one. or at least one of. no promises on the mary lou chapter. :P


	7. Plateau Six: The Good Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anyone who realises what Love is, the dedication of the heart, so profound, so absorbing, so mysterious, so imperative, and always just in the noblest natures so strong, cannot fail to see how difficult, how tragic even, must often be the fate of those whose deepest feelings are destined from the earliest days to be a riddle and a stumbling-block, unexplained to themselves, passed over in silence by others.”   
> ― Edward Carpenter, The Intermediate Sex: A Study of Some Transitional Types of Men and Women

 

On the next stop down the rabbit hole the walls materialized into the most “normal” setting since the wand shop.

Percival found himself standing in a moderate sized hospital room that appeared to be relatively sterile and clean.

 Instead of a south wall, there was a window covered by a white set of blinds – and through the blinds peeked out small slivers of what appeared to be daylight.

A large hospital bed was at the center of the room; a singular bed denoting that this was a private hospital room.

 Percival crept closer to the bed’s side railing, cautiously approaching the cocoon of pure white blankets that was lying curled up in the middle of the mattress. He had gotten as close as he could -- his stomach touching the metal of the railing slightly – when it occurred to Percival that the bundle had yet to move.

Was this another corpse by chance?

Hesitating at first, Percival reached out. He retracted his arm the next moment, but then shook his head and reached out again – this time cautiously touching the covered mass.

A low and muffled groan resonated from somewhere beneath the sheets, and Percival stepped backwards from the sudden appearance of noise. The bundle of blankets rotated… and what Percival could only guess was a teenage variation of Credence emerged from underneath it.

For a moment, the boy tried to sit up – but for whatever reason seemed to decide against it and he collapsed back onto the bed, this time facing Percival and eyeing him warily.

The boy was sickly looking as ever – and the only way Percival could tell that there even _was_ an age difference was the fact that he was taller and lankier from the child Credence he had met before, but still not with the bowl cut or the heavy set bags under his eyes.

“Credence?” Percival finally addressed him. He could not help the small smile that crept into his lips – despite the fact that he still had no idea what was happening, Percival could not deny he was simply happy to see Credence again.

And Percival suddenly found himself yearning for a way to pause the ascension.

He wanted to stay in this moment, reunited with a Credence was not in the process of being brutalized or frightened – in a moment where it was only the two of them, in this room that looked like a normal room.

They could have been most anywhere, really – as long as he could give pause to the monsters lurking in the shadows.

But Percival knew he could not, and soon _they_ would pounce.

Credence seemed to be trying to speak -- but all that came out instead were faint rasps from a dry mouth. Percival tried to look around for a glass of water, but could find nothing else in the room besides a vase with some dead flowers on the dresser and an empty metallic tray on a side table.

“Shhh…” Percival resolved to hush the boy, reaching out to touch him again. This time his hand made contact with the skin on the boy’s forehead -- and Percival was surprised to find it drenched with sweat and the heat of fever. “It’s okay Credence, you don’t have to speak if it hurts.”

Was Credence sick?

From the waist down, Credence’s body was still covered in various layers of thin white blankets – but Percival still saw how the outline of his legs now seemed to fidget and kick restlessly.

Percival leaned over the railing and gently took hold of one arm… which he only now saw had a small IV needle inserted just above the crook of his pointed and bony elbow. A tube of something transparent was connected to it, but Percival could not quite find where the tube led as it seemed to simply snake away into somewhere underneath the hospital bed.

He wanted to ask the boy many things – but it was obvious that for whatever reason, Credence was in no state to provide answers. And so far, there was no one else in the plateau with them.

Sighing – unsure as to what could happen next – Percival resorted to simply kneeling by Credence’s bedside and taking a firm hold of Credence’s right wrist.

With his thumb, he rubbed gentle circles on the sweat covered skin.

“This isn’t real,” Percival tried to assure him – quite possibly himself as well, “I’m not sure what’s wrong with you my boy… but just know that none of this is real. It’s just a bad dream.”

Credence was no longer attempting to speak, but he looked up at Percival with large and infatuated eyes. The boy was seemingly unsure as to how to react to the unfamiliar but much needed affection.

Percival couldn’t say for sure if Credence comprehended what he was saying at all, but if there was even the smallest chance, Percival felt it was worth taking.

So… he did just that.

“In the waking world you’re in my room right now,” Percival explained gently. He did not give much thought to how creepy that might sound coming from a strange man you’ve yet to meet, because Percival didn’t figure that it would matter in the long run anyway.

Credence would understand eventually.

“You’re sleeping next to me on my bed, because you don’t like sleeping by yourself,” Percival chuckled at how absolutely insane that sounded, “I know you probably don’t recognize me right now, but you and I… we live together in the future. And soon you’re going to wake up soon, and we’ll have a nice, hot breakfast…. and I’m going to book a vacation for us the first chance I get, you watch. All of this just made me realize we _both_ need one…we both need a vacation really, _really_ bad kiddo.”

Something in the way Credence looked back at him made Percival believe that Credence already somehow trusted him and his words.

Wordlessly, the boy’s expression seemed to ask Percival, “Can’t you take me now?”

It was sweet and heartbreaking all at the same time – it was almost as though Credence was doomed to fall for whoever was wearing his face, like a bad joke from God.

Percival often wondered if the small kindnesses he had shown Credence before Grindelwald snatched his identity was what led the boy to trust him so easily, almost immediately after Grindelwald sought him out.

And yet this version of Credence – this variation who had yet to ever so much as glimpse Percival Graves – already looked at him with a familiar kind of fondness.

For the first time, Percival thought back on Tina’s reservations about Credence taking up residence in Percival’s brownstone.

She had warned Percival that it was a “dangerous” living arrangement – and it was only now that Percival realized who she considered to be the endangered one between them.

 _Why do you trust me so damn much?_ Percival asked Credence silently, still unwilling to actually verbalize the question that had crossed his mind more times than he cared to admit.

_If you hadn’t… if you had just spat in Grindelwald’s face like you should have when he came to you…so much would be different._

_But you didn’t… because he looked like me._

_And you thought…._

Suddenly, a door opened.

Percival was sure there hadn’t been a door there before, in the middle of the wall behind him – yet now there was, and two faceless phantasms walked in, one in a nurse’s outfit and one in a white lab coat. The phantasm in the lab coat was of a much taller and muscular build than the feminine body of the nurse, and so Percival could only presume this was some kind of doctor.

 _Ah_ … the monsters go in for the kill at long last.

Both phantasms seemed to halt upon noticing Percival there. Percival thought to himself that he should probably release his hold on Credence’s wrist, but in response his fingers only seemed to tighten harder around it.

“What are you doing here?” said a disembodied male voice.

“I’m… his father,” Percival tried to say with confidence.

He wasn’t sure why he attempted the charade. If he was being honest, Percival supposed he just wanted a little more time with the boy.

The phantasm in the lab coat turned to look at the female phantasm in the surprisingly short nurses’ gown.

A feminine voice with a hint of a southern drawl then said, “Sir, this boy is from out of state… both his parents and uncle have tragically passed away and he is now receiving needed medical treatments before being transferred to next of kin. All that considered, I find it hard to believe that you’re his father.”

The word ‘uncle’ caught Percival’s notice -- and for a fleeting yet still terrifying second -- the image of The Minotaur flashed across his imaginations eye.

He tried to suppress his shudder.

“I am the next of kin,” Percival cleared his throat. He was admittedly unsure of where he was going with this himself – he just knew that he didn’t want to let go of Credence again.

…Not yet, at least.

…Maybe not ever.

 “You’re Mary Lou Barebone?” asked the male voice sarcastically.

“I’m her… brother,” Percival muttered, realizing that he hardly sounded convincing.

But what did it really matter… none of this was real, right?

Truth be told, it was getting harder and harder to remember that with every passing nightmare.

“Get out,” the nurse barked, obviously unamused.

“What’s wrong with him?” Percival asked them, not budging from where he stood.

“That’s confidential,” said the male voice.

“You _will_ tell me what’s wrong with him,” Percival growled, his free hand pulling out the dagger from within his pocket, “… or I’m slitting both your throats right here and now.”

Both phantasms went quiet, and as they didn’t have faces it was once again hard to tell what they were thinking. It was difficult to say if they took his threat seriously without shocked or dismayed expressions to go by.

Did all dream state phantasms necessarily have a sense of self-preservation?

Did they all really believe that they were existing beings living out normal human lives, prone to injury and even death?

“Okay, okay…” the male voice spoke first, and it was noticeably shaken. The faceless doctor threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender, “Just calm down, buddy… let’s not do anything crazy….”

“Then tell me what you’re treating him for….” Percival demanded impatiently, using his most intimidating interrogation room voice – a soft but still vicious hiss that has made more than a few detainees wet their pants on the spot.

“Mrs. Barebone requested that he be treated for inversion since his uncle was discovered to have molested him. We’re just trying some common conversion therapy methods on him, that’s all!” the nurse explained hastily, stepping backwards ever so slightly.

Percival whipped back around to look at Credence.

What he had originally took for a stare of wide eyed affection – Percival now realized – was actually a pupil dilation induced from what was likely a heavy amount of drugs.

“Oh, Credence…” Percival mumbled to himself. He shook his head tiredly -- the other phantasms forgotten in light of the fresh yank at his already exhausted emotions.

When he turned back around -- ready to berate these non-existent manifestations for subjecting Credence to such cruel treatment over _their_ backwards logic – Percival was greeted with new phantasms.

Based on their attires, they were faceless security guards.

And before Percival could make a move they seized him -- making quick work of forcing him out of the room.

Percival waved the dagger around a bit, but he already knew it wasn’t much use. He was just about out of time in this circle of hell anyway.

As he was dragged away, Percival could not resist screaming back at the doctor and nurse who – if they had any faces – he imagined would be looking at him as though he were a crazy man.

“ _Bastards_!” Percival bellowed angrily, “There’s nothing wrong with him! It’s not his fault!”

It’s _not_ his fault…

…not like that ever prevented tragedy from happening regardless.

When the door slammed shut in front of him, Percival felt the tight grip of the guard’s hands loosen --and he twisted himself to see their forms already in the process of evaporation.

Gravity lifted, and Percival surrendered to weightlessness like floating on the surface of a sea of misery… drifting to whatever hellish island the tide might carry him to next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three more to go! 
> 
> anyone want to take a guess at the final three themes and/or in what order they'll be in?
> 
> ;)


	8. Plateau Seven: The Mother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The mother myth gives great cover to unloving mothers, who far too often operate undisturbed while their husbands, other family members, and society deflect any criticism or scrutiny aimed at them. Most societies glorify mothers, as if the mere act of giving birth makes them inherently capable of nurturing. That's simply not true.”  
> ― Susan Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think this chapter is bad per say. At least, it's not that bad compared to chapter four depending on what bothers you, and yes, this is the Mary Lou chapter so I think it's needless to say that this is going to be one of the more... eventful chapters.
> 
> But here's a warning anyway: 
> 
> There's some blood, some literal salt rubbed on wounds, some unwilling vaginal penetration via a poorly crafted crucifix, child abuse, a shit ton of violence, and lots of cursing. 
> 
> ...don't worry though, not all of it is directed at Credence.

"Put them on." 

Percival heard the voice and he recognized the wretched sound before he could see her.  

He had landed in the first familiar setting since the ascension's beginning: the battered and gaunt looking church not far from his own home.  

Percival had only ever seen it from outside -- but the structure of his surroundings, and the presence of religious decorations scattered randomly on dull colored walls made it hardly a mystery.  

Even besides the visible clues, Percival could smell the stench of misery and slaughtered childhoods in the dusty air around him.  

It was the house of God that was always, and will  _forever_ be Godless.  

Percival stood in the church kitchen, the one where Tina had said she had often observed Credence and Mary Lou feeding the local homeless children.  

But there were no children there now, and shallow and empty wooden bowls lined the shelves waiting patiently for the next wave of hungry stomachs. 

The voice Percival had heard had originated from outside the room.  

He prowled stealthily towards the noise – taking care not to put too much weight onto floorboards that Percival was certain was prone to loud creaking.  

"Ma', please..." 

A soft mewl that was unmistakably Credence drifted from the same direction he had heard the first voice. Percival's own breaths hitched at the timid noise... that desperate plea that triggered a sudden and unwelcome memory in Percival's mind. 

* * *

It was an incident that  had occurred in their first week as housemates.  

Percival had been drunk – wasted, in fact. 

It had been an awful day at MACUSA, with Percival having had to waste half his work day cleaning up a mess that Abernathy had caused entirely on his own.  

When he finally did get home to their brownstone, Percival had felt that the only way to save his sanity from the brink of extinction was to chug down an entire bottle of firewhiskey.  

It was a Friday, after all. Why the hell not? 

Well -- as it so happened -- there was a storm that came that night.  

A major thunderstorm so mighty, one might think that it was some kind of shit fit thrown by Thor the thunder god himself. It was the kind of thunderstorm that made children cry and women cling to their men and squeal in fright. 

Percival highly doubted that Credence had never experienced a thunderstorm before -- New York was no stranger to stormy weather and heavy rain.  

But still fresh from the incident with Grindelwald and the obscurus, Percival had neglected to consider that Credence might be a little more  _jumpy_ than usual.  

After he was thoroughly more alcohol than man, Percival had wandered up to the sanctity of his study. He had not seen Credence since he got home... but quite frankly he couldn’t bring himself to care in the current moment. He needed the time alone.  

Yet when he had reached the study – once he opened the maple door -- what greeted his impaired vision was  _not_ his elaborately carved writing desk or his bookshelves that had always been so carefully organized and kept sparkling clean. None of those were there anymore. 

Instead, Percival was greeted by a ruin --- a ruin of scattered wooden chips and shattered ceramic, of fallen books with torn pages and ripped spines.  

And in the center of the chaotic scene -- sitting on the floor -- was a half solid Credence who had curled into a ball, and was crying both tears and black mist.  

And Percival had advanced on the boy, infuriated beyond words. Rage and disbelief seemed to pulsate through his body harder than his pounding heartbeat.  

He bent down and roughly seized Credence by an upper arm, pulling him upright.  

"What did you do!?" Percival roared at him scathingly, the alcohol in his blood bringing it  _beyond_ the point of boiling.  

"Mr. Graves, please..." Was all Credence had managed to answer with between whimpers and tormented moans.  

Percival raised a hand, his fingers still itching to strike the boy's tear soaked skin.  

He needed to hit  _something_ for this -- and what better than the little shit who actually caused it?  

 Credence had winced -- but did not struggle.  

His eyes – still half white from the obscurus' efforts to overtake him – met Percival's own.  

Enormous pupils were dilated by fear and a conditioned response to expect punishment for things beyond the boy's control. And in them, Percival could see his own reflection. 

He saw his drunken appearance – from the red face to the tousled hair, down to furrowed brow.  

Yet despite the uncanny likeness to every detail, to Percival the image somehow looked more like Gellert Grindelwald. And for that moment -- Percival would bet that that's what Credence saw as well.  

Percival had huffed angrily... but he had released his grip on Credence, opting to turn heel and walk away before he was compelled  to act out any further. 

Credence hadn't followed him – but the sound of terrified sobs seemed to haunt him all the way back to his bedroom, which was far past the point of earshot from where the study was located.  

* * *

 

"Credence." 

Percival had finally reached them – a fully grown Credence sat on a metal and rusty chair that leaned against the broad side of the front staircase.  

The boy held his legs together -- hugging them tightly against his torso in a way that was not much different from the way he always curled into himself.  

But Percival could see that his knees were raised slightly, so that the bend of them covered his mouth and the bottom of his bare feet hovered over the floor. 

Percival saw drops of red dripping from the soles of them -- undoubtedly blood based on the metallic smell that had permeated even from the kitchen. Gashes and nicks of the same red were visible between each toe, blood swelling into tiny red balloons that melted and oozed down with the rest of it.  

Still, there was something else... another smell. One Percival couldn't quite place. It was something strange yet still rancid and distinct.  

A step closer and Percival saw her. 

Mary Lou Barbone stood beside Credence -- her back turned to Percival as she held out what appeared to be socks. The socks appeared wet and finally it occurred to Percival what that other smell was: 

Vinegar.  

"You  _will_ put them on, Credence," Mary Lou hissed pressing the soaked socks into Credence's balled fists. 

After another moments hesitation, Credence finally obeyed.  

He winced as he pulled the dirty and smelly socks on his obviously wounded and bleeding feet -- screaming out whenever each sock was so much as halfway on. The bottoms of the socks turned a dark red with blossoming blood stains. 

On a nearby coffee table, Percival noticed a bloody shaving blade resting in a wooden bowl – next to a bottle of vinegar and what appeared to be a shaker filled with salt.  

Percival swallowed down the frustrated growl that tried to worm its way out of his throat.  

He inched even closer – moving to where he was nearly directly behind Mary Lou.  

If Credence could see him, he showed no sign.  

Mary Lou tittered and handed Credence some pamphlets as the boy adjusted to the burning sensation that engulfed his already battered and nicked feet.  

"Now... hand these out and don't come back until you've distributed every single one. And remember what happens the next time you're tempted to touch yourself in such an disgusting manner."  

Credence nodded meekly as he accepted the pile of pamphlets, still wincing and twitching from pain. And then he looked up, his eyes growing just a bit wider as he finally noticed Percival standing there -- still unseen by Mary Lou.  

Percival put a finger to his lips in an attempt to signal Credence to be silent -- but the surprise on Credence's expression obviously did not escape Mary Lou anyway.  

"Credence, what are you -- " 

Before Mary Lou could say anything more, Percival grabbed a fistful of her ugly brown hair and yanked her head back painfully. She screamed, and Credence actually seemed to move to help her, but Percival shot him a stern warning look.  

"Get out, Credence. Take off those stupid socks and leave. You shouldn't see this."   

He wasn't sure how comforting he ever actually sounded, but that wasn't a priority at the moment. Still -- in hindsight -- it was a surprise that Credence obeyed. The boy promptly yanked off the socks and he ran back up the staircase, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints in his wake. 

"Credence, get back here!" She screeched at the boy, but Percival slapped a hand over the gaping hole of her mouth -- squeezing down so that only muffled noises came from it.  

Once Credence was out of sight – the sound of a door slamming shut  from somewhere on the second floor --Percival swung Mary Lou and half threw the wretched woman back into the kitchen where he had appeared.  

She landed against the sink with a dull thud -- knocking down some glass cups as the woman reached up on the counter in an attempt to catch herself. It was a nearly comical sight of flailing limbs as she failed to do so, and instead tried to quickly scramble back on her feet.  

"Who are you?" Mary Lou demanded, apparently unable to suppress the panicked and fearful quiver out of what Percival supposed was supposed to be an intimidating tone, "You're one of  _them_ aren't you?!?"  

Percival bared down on her, barely aware of the way his mouth had split into the widest grin he's likely had in years. His cheeks lifted, and his dark eyes glittered in an excited yet entirely humorless mirth.  

Oh -- how Percival has dreamt of this day.  

There was the dagger, yes.... but it wasn't time for that  _just_ yet.  

Percival wanted Mary Lou to  _suffer_.  

He wanted to make her suffer even a fraction of the way she had made Credence suffer -- even if it was only in a dream world.  

Percival had so longed to tear any variation of Mary Lou Barbebone limb from limb – and if this phantasm was all he was going to get, then so be it.  

"I'm your worst fucking nightmare you haggard bitch," Percival spat as he grabbed another fistful of Mary Lou's hair and slammed her skull against the edge of the sink, just hard enough to make her cry out in pain but not enough to risk causing her to blackout should it be a possibility.  

With his free hand, Percival swiftly ripped off the long skirt that she wore while she screamed and struggled against him. Her granny panties came off along with them, exposing a bloated and ugly lower body.  

"Credence! Chastity!" Mary Lou bellowed frantically, trying with all her might to kick Percival off of her, "Someone help me!"  

Percival roared back at her -- feeling only unadulterated fury in his lungs where air should have been, "How dare you! How  _dare_ you ask Credence for  _anything_ after what you've done to him! You ruined that poor boy for doing nothing but trying to please you... for wanting nothing but your approval! How  _dare_ you seek his help when there was no one to help him from you!" 

Percival saw it then – a large but narrow crucifix that hung on the wall over the dishwashing rack.  

The grin went a little wider as he released her just to reach for it and yank it from the nail on which it hung. He felt the cross in his hand -- a skinny crucifix made of wood and possibly crafted by Modesty or one of the children as the edges of it were pointed at not at all smooth.  

At his feet, a half naked Mary Lou – with fat and venous thighs that resembled some of Newt Scamander's uglier creatures --  tried to scurry away; her discarded skirt and panties abandoned on the floorboards a few feet from where they were. 

"Not so fast," Percival smirked with sadistic malevolence, "Now see... I  _could_ rape you, and  _maybe_ it might give you just a tiny taste of what Credence has had to go through. Rape is a terrible and heinous act, but if anyone deserves it it's  _you_ , Mary Lou Barebone. But you're too disgusting... even for a filthy homosexual degenerate such as myself. "  

He twirled the cross in his right hand, feeling the sharp splinters that already ingrained themselves into the skin of Percival's palm from even the slightest of contact. 

"I have no clue what you're talking about, demon," Mary Lou still tried to back away, but Percival matched her every move – one small step forward for every crawl backwards, "But mark my words... you won't get away with this. Even if you kill me here and now, the wrath of God will be on you for the span of your souls eternal life."  

Finally -- it was Percival's turn to laugh.  

"Bitch," Percival seethed with rage, hissing through gritted teeth.  

He bent down and faster than Mary Lou's phantasm could move, he shoved the bottom half of the pointed crucifix up the hole behind her messy bush of pubic hair -- savoring the bloodcurdling scream that it pulled from Mary Lou's throat.  

Making sure she was looking directly into his eyes -- his face inches away -- Percival growled cooly, "I am the closest thing to God that a heathen like you will  _ever_ see."  

And he withdrew the cross just to shove it back in right after. He repeated the motion -- putting all his strength into every shove.  

Mary Lou screamed at each penetration, and at a point where her pain did not paralyze her, she reached behind herself -- grabbing a shard of the broken glass that had once been part of a drinking cup. 

It did not slip Percival's notice however, who was quick to seize the glass from her hand before she could bring it to his throat.  

With another grab of Mary Lou's hair -- he forced her to flip over. He straddled the small of her back, holding down her writhing and screaming plump body by the back of her neck.  

Percival used the glass to slash deep gashes into her back -- sand oozing out where there should have been blood.  

It was somewhat dissapointing, Percival had to admit.  

He would have  _loved_ to see Mary Lou bleed... but based on the volume of her screams it was still just as painful as the violent ripping of skin and flesh should be.  

When he felt satisfied with his work, Percival lowered himself onto Mary Lou's back so that he lay directly on her, his hand still gripping at her hair.  

And Percival twisted Mary Lou's head so that one ear was pressed right up against his mouth.  

"Guess what, you rotten wench," Percival half purred as he felt the fingers of his free hand finally close around the dagger's hilt, "In reality, Credence kills both you  _and_ Chastity. Your abuse ultimately only led to your demise... and I'm sure if there is a hell, you're burning in it as we speak. Meanwhile, Credence is now under  _my_ care and he has friends who love him as well as  all the financial security he'll ever need with me. And you... you deserved  _everything_ you got."   

Suddenly, Percival yanked her head back.  

Mary Lou yelped – then the shrew screamed as the daggers blade was dragged slowly but firmly against the width of her stubby throat... a waterfall of golden sand pouring out on the floor like dirt funneling out into a ditch.  

Before she faded away completely -- Percival took a rotten apple he had spotted earlier atop the dining table, and he shoved it into the gape of her still screaming mouth. He then stood over the dissipating body -- and Percival eyed her with all the disdain and distaste that he had never thought he could feel so powerfully until he had come to know of Mary Lou's existence.  

"Fuck you," Percival spat before he walked away from the shimmering, sandy heap – for once happy to stride out into a scene that was already morphing into a void of pure black.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early Mothers Day?


	9. Plateau Eight: The Caterpillar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who are YOU?” said the Caterpillar.  
> This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I–I hardly know, sir, just at present– at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”  
>  -Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

The study.  

The study was the next plateau.  

The study that Percival never did try to restore to it's former glory – although with magic it would have never been a difficult task. But frankly, Percival had found himself suddenly avoiding the place after that close call with Credence, opting to write letters either in his room or in the living room instead.  

Yet here it was. The shelves were still stacked and organized, the oak writing desk so clean you could eat off it. The three oil lamps in different parts of the room were all lit. Vases and ceramic ornaments that were still in one piece – objects Percival had collected throughout his various travels – shined proudly on the mantle of the fireplace, with not a speck of dust to dull them.  

The two articles of lounge furniture were also exactly as Percival remembered them – one armchair next to the maroon curtained window, tilted so that it faced the writing desk – and the armchair, in the same black leather as the first, faced the fireplace that was almost always absent of any actual fire.  

Yet it was the fireplace adjacent chair that Percival had always favored -- and in that chair is exactly where Percival Graves found himself now.  

His phantasm sat back on the lounge chair looking quite comfortable. There was an open book on his lap. On the small and circular coffee table next to the right armrest, there was a half drunk bottle of firewhiskey and what appeared to be a large silver hookah. 

Since when the hell did Percival ever smoke hookah? 

Percival was impressed by how Credence seemed to remember every detail of the study before it was destroyed – but now he found himself confused as to why the boy might ever imagine Percival smoking hookah.  

It was just... weird.  

When the phantasm didn't seem to want to look up from his book, Percival cleared his throat to announce his presence, even though he was not entirely sure what he wanted to say.  

His phantasm's head bolted upright at the sound, but the expression on his own features seemed neither surprised nor impressed when his own eyes found him standing there.  

"Who are you?" The faux Percival asked.  

"I could ask the same thing," Percival deflected, his thumb grazing the pocket where the dagger now rested. 

The false Percival did not answer -- but he motioned to the unoccupied chair a few feet away.  

"Sit," he said simply. 

Percival hesitated, uncertain of where this was going – where it  _could_ go -- but for lack of anything else to do he complied.  

Surely, he  _could_ have just reached out and pulled his imposter from the chair... maybe rough him up a bit and then stick the dagger through his heart and be done with it. 

Yet Percival could not deny that there was a sort of... curiosity that was taking hold of him. 

It's not every day you get the chance to literally talk to yourself, after all – even if "yourself" was just an evil twin version of you.  

"Drink?" The false Percival asked almost graciously, conjuring a filled whiskey glass before Percival could even have the chance to answer.  

"Sure," Percival shrugged, reaching forward to grab the offered glass.  

The smell of the alcohol alone was a welcome source of relief, and Percival had none of his usual paranoid reservations (#1 rule to guarantee continued existence and safety in the magical world – don't drink anything offered to you that hasn't been checked for potion lacing first) and he downed the fire whiskey in a single swig.  

"You're surprised to see me here," the false Percival said as the true Percival put down the glass on the writing desk's surface.  

"You know why I'm here then?" The true Percival cocked an eyebrow, wondering if his phantasm had the same omniscience that God did. It would have sort of an ironic humor to it.  

"It's not hard to figure out," the false Percival shrugged, "I am you, after all... I always have some knowledge of your actions in the waking world. Just as you can recall dreams where you've visited old stomping grounds... or more like where you saw  _me_ visit old stomping grounds... I can recall your conversation with Queenie and what you did to get here." 

The false Percival poured them both new glasses, and handed he handed the true Percival another cup as he mused, "Is it such a hard concept to grasp that just as your waking self can remember dreams, your dream self can remember some of  your waking moments? It's not exactly like we can communicate and discuss such matters on a frequent basis... but that's never to say that it isn't possible. Surely, you have seen your dream self react to a situation or a memory that’s occurred during the day. These things are difficult to remember in detail... but indeed my understanding of the situation now is that you are surprised to see me here because you expected  _me_ to be the final phantasm."  

"Are you?" Percival asked simply, unsure how to really address or even grasp the rest of the false one's philosophical ramblings. 

"No," the false Percival sighed, "But honestly I'm not sure who it is, if that's what you were going to ask next. Maybe... it's still me." 

"What do you mean?" The true Percival asked, "Could a phantasm show up twice?" 

"I meant," the false Percival mumbled, taking a puff of the hookah (which still seemed oddly out of place), "Maybe the last phantasm is the Grindelwald version of me... of us." 

An ominous feeling crashed over Percival -- flooding out the nostalgic and welcoming ambiance of his former study.  

Percival took another swig of whiskey, unsure if the lack of inebriation was due to the existential crisis he was experiencing --  or if you simply could not get drunk in the dream state. 

He'd believe both.  

"You mean... you're  _not_ him?" Percival inquired the question quietly, in the way he did whenever he was asking a question that he's not sure he actually wants the answer to.  

The false Percival smiled at him... then blew out another puff of smoke before he answered, "I'm asking the wrong question. I think the question here is less 'am I Grindelwald's impersonation of you', where it should be...  _is_ _there really a difference_?" 

"Of course there is!" Percival snapped at himself, pounding a fist on the writing table like a knee jerk reaction to such an infuriating answer. "You just convinced me that you  _are_ him after all... because  _I_ would know that that isn't a question at all."  

"Isn't it?" The false Percival just shrugged, unfazed by his own burst of anger, "Can you really say with complete certainty that you have  _never_ asked yourself that question, Percival... not even in the back of your mind? Can you say with total confidence that you've  _never_ wondered about just how easy it was for Gellert to wear your skin and walk your walk without anyone noticing something was off? Have you really never once thought about what that said about you, Percival?  

Percival stood abruptly, his right hand halfway into the pocket with the dagger.  

"Bastard..." Percival growled. He stepped away from the armchair and approached him with bloodlust and a need for vengeance fueling the muscles in his feet with every step closer, "The closest thing to Gellert Grindelwald in this room is  _you_ , and we both know it."  

The false Percival shook his head sadly, not even wincing once the dagger was exposed and raised.  

The false Percival only reached out --- and he grabbed the wrist of the hand that gripped the dagger's hilt.  

"...but are you sure?" The false Percival flashed a mischievous, almost teasing grin that Percival had only seen on himself in pictures from his Ilvermorny days, "You can go ahead and kill me if you like, Percival... nothing stops you. I can't do anything about it, I realize. But consider this... if you're wrong, if I am in fact a phantasm of your true, original self... you'll be exiling yourself from Credence's dreams for good."  

Percival did ponder it a moment, but his resolve didn't much change.  

"Is that such a terrible thing?" Percival half shrugged, struggling to yank his wrist away from the false one's grasp. "So long as he never has to see  _that_ Percival Graves...  _you_ , again, I think the pros outweigh the cons on this one."  

"Selfish as always," the false Percival chuckled darkly, gripping Percival's wrist even harder, to the point where it was beginning to hurt.  

"If you recall... this potion only visits nine plateaus of the most frequently occurring dreams. I thought I was smart enough to figure this, but I guess I have to spell it out for myself... that means there are many dream states, smaller ones, that you have yet to see." 

"And?" Percival hissed, annoyed at the smugness of the other man who was also the same man -- which only made him angrier.  

"...and as easily shaken as the boy is, many of these are also nightmares. Small ones... things like the rats and cockroaches that used to nest and scuttle around in his bedroom back at the church... but still nightmares none the less. And, think  _hard_ about this one Percival... who do you think is often the person who comes to save him in those dreams?" 

The false Percival released his wrist, but Percival lowered the dagger rather than taking that opportunity to strike with it.  

Eyebrows furrowed, the true Percival tried to comprehend what the false one was trying to say.  

"Who do you think it is who saves him from the other phantasms that live in this dream state, while my physical self sleeps uselessly on the floor next to him? Or, Percival, consider this... on the occasional good dream the boy experiences, who do you think it's spent with? Who do you think he's had happy dreams of getting married to, receiving gifts from, going to bed with? Who do you think  _does_ all that, Percival?" 

The false one blew out another ring of smoke, his body language still as relaxed as ever.  

Percival stood there in silence for a few good seconds -- debating the possibility.  

If he kills his own phantasm now, will Percival be making it so Credence's phantasms are abandoned -- left alone with  the monsters and demons of dream states unseen?  

But to consider the flip side... 

"If you're wrong..." Percival frowned, still wholly conflicted, "If you're  _him_ , and I let you go... then much of this will have been a waste, because the boy will continue to have nightmares about Gellert Grindelwald wearing my face. And this potion is limited to one use every five years... it's not like I can come back for a do over."  

"Yes," the false Percival hummed lazily, "Quite the conundrum, isn't it? Although I have to admit that this is very like you, Percival... all this self doubt."  

Percival remembered the toothless ghost of Modesty with no particular trigger. The girl's teary eyed face flashed across his mind – and it gave Percival an idea.  

Percival backed away, but instead of returning to the other armchair, he leaned back against the writing table, his fingers feeling it's sorely missed craftsmanship.  

From the window behind him, daylight – bright rays of sun – poured into the room and gave the study a cheery atmosphere akin to a warm spring day.  

But somehow Percival knew that that wasn't really sunlight – more likely some kind of white empty abyss, as the daylight he thought he saw in the hospital room probably was as well.  

"Tell me something only I would know," Percival proposed -- reminded of how Modesty was able to recount something that only she had witnessed and that only she would have had knowledge of, "Something extremely specific." 

The false Percival grinned eagerly then, and his excitement at the request disturbed Percival slightly.  

"Gladly," the false one said chipperly, "I'll do you one better, in fact.... I'll  _show_ you."  

The false one took another puff from the hookah... but instead of the usual ring of smoke drifting out from his mouth, shimmering clouds like a more transparent patronus charm took form into small but detailed humanoid shapes that floated in midair between the two Percival's. 

One of the shapes was Percival in his full MACUSA attire. The other one was a miniature Tina Goldstein – who stood before Percival looking frantic and distressed.  

"Mr. Graves,  _sir_..." The small Tina panted, her voice heavy with desperation.  

Although the apparitions weren't full sized, the projections voice could be heard as though Tina were standing right there in the study with them.  

And immediately, Percival recognized what he was watching. He winced, but he stayed quiet. 

" _Enough_ , Tina," the smoke built Percival snapped at her, "You broke the statute of secrecy... there's nothing more I can do to help you. Be glad you weren't fired." 

"That's not what I'm worried about!" Tina's voice screamed with the dream state echo, "That woman is going to kill him! We  _have_ to do something!" 

"The business or lives of No Maj's are of no concern to us, Tina!" Percival listened to his projection snap at her -- the callousness of every word like grinding into his ears like lemon juice squeezed into a fresh and bleeding wound, "Gellert Grindelwald could be planning an attack here any day now... we must be prepared. We have our own safety to worry about." 

"Percival..." Tina's voice had lowered, resorting to a quiet plea, "Please. You don't even have to do anything. Just let me and Queenie hide him somewhere else, somewhere safer. It wouldn't be hard to modify their memories,  _please_... you have no idea what I've seen that woman do to him. And he's just so meek and shy and he'll never stand up for himself on his own! Sir,  _please_ let ushelp him... he doesn't deserve this." 

"No child does," Percival's smoke embodiment just shrugged, "Life's just not fair, sometimes. But either way, it's against our current laws regardless of my opinion... and any true Auror should know that. Sorry, Tina. As of today I really must order that you not go near the Second Salmers at all." 

At that, Tina's projection gasped loudly but Percival's insisted sternly, "It's for your own good Ms. Goldstein. I just don't want you finding yourself in another situation where you might be tempted to act out. Next time, you  _will_ lose your job. And don't even think about pulling anything stupid... I'll be watching you."  

The smoke evaporated. 

Trembling with a powerful mixture of emotions – none of which were happy -- Percival looked up again at the false image of himself, who was still casually lounging in his former favorite armchair.  

"And you did keep an eye on her... didn't you?" The false Percival tittered mockingly, "You took  _every_ single measure to make sure your employee toed the line, with no regard to how that insignificant No Maj boy was left to suffer... making him a practically a sitting duck when Gellert Grindelwald came along looking for an assistant. And Credence, so desperate for a friend, so willing to please and trust... a boy with no real friends or family to watch over him properly, a boy with no real home to go to... he was just  _perfect_. And it was all thanks to you." 

"It was different then," Percival said through a cracked voice and with lips now salty and wet from tears, "...I didn't know." 

"Oh save me the crocodile tears," false Percival rolled his eyes, "You knew  _damn well._  The only difference Is  _now_ you care, and  _now_ it's personal. Well, I think I would know this more than anyone else... life doesn't work that way. One can't spend their lives being a downright ass and then cry foul when something doesn't go their way. You spent your life being a government shark, Percival... firing people, killing others, denying vacation time if you were in so much as a bad mood. And the atheist you are, you've found comfort in the fact that there appeared to be divine punishment for  _any_ of it. You've reached the middle of your life rich, in good health, handsome, and highly respected..." 

Another toke from the hookah. 

Another ring of smoke. 

Another sob suppressed. 

"...and then you find  _one_ person you give a damn about... you find companionship for a loneliness you weren't even aware of... and all of sudden you expect the world to bend all it's rules in order to give him a happier time, in turn making you feel better? What was it you said, Percival? _A_ _h yes_ , life isn't fair sometimes. It never was, and Credence Barebone or not... it never will be. It's almost ironic isn't it? You thought you could act like an ass on a regular basis, and your privileged status lulled you into a false sense of security. You never expected that what would end up haunting you the most were the ghosts of someone else entirely. Really, if I believed in anything at all, I'd almost say it's something like karma..." 

A ring of smoke came right across Percival's head like a lasso going in for the pull.  

In the tense moment, Percival was trying his best not to let out the cries and sobs that built up in his chest and shoulders like bile --- he fought tooth and nail to hold on to his stoic image, even in front of himself.  

And thoughtfully, the false Percival finished his lecture by saying, "...And now you've spent  _so_ much of your time and breath telling various people that 'it's not Credence's fault', and for various situations. And it isn't... it really isn't Credence's fault at all. But, Percival Graves, I  _really_ must ask myself... have you ever once considered that it might be yours?" 

Around them, the walls and furniture of the study began to drip like melting ice cream... or the ooze of blood from an open wound.  

"Looks like we're out of time," the false Percival smiled up at himself almost sadly.  

"So who were you, then?" Was all Percival could say as his parting words, his vision blurring from things unrelated to the changing dream state.  

Half evaporated, the true Percival watched himself shrug dismissively.  

"Again I ask," his phantasm uttered under it's breath so softly that the true Percival only barely heard the words, "Did it ever matter?"  

In the swirl of changing scenery, Percival could hear a bell toll loudly off into the distance.  

Worriedly, he wondered: 

What is it that Credence might dread even more than the man who unwillingly destroyed him?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! ^__^


	10. Plateau Nine: The Martyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When I discover who I am, I’ll be free.”   
> ― Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

"Hello, Credence."  

Percival stood before the final phantasm: a variation of Credence Barbone that most closely resembled the one he was sleeping next to at the very moment, the one that Percival had casually bid goodnight to what now felt like an eternity ago. 

The only notable difference was that this Credence appeared to have wings. Not angel wings but bat's wings, dark and gigantic behind each pointed shoulder.  

They were standing in the middle of an empty street in New York, underneath the darkness of a starless night sky. Yet flames and furnace that licked the sides of buildings and flickered behind shattered windows shed a hellish and malevolent red light on them both.  

Between them, Percival saw the body of a man face down on the ground.  

He wasn't sure quite sure who the corpse was supposed to be -- only that whoever it was was obviously dead – and from the sand that pooled out around the underside of it's neck, it was safe to say the man was dead by Credence's hands.  

Credence smiled calmly at Percival, despite the chaotic scene all around them... so unlike the nervous and jumpy Credence who would be having  _several_ mental breakdowns in a scenario only half this frightening.  

"Percival," Credence addressed him cooly, and it was the first time Percival had ever heard Credence address him by his first name, "You're not supposed to be here."  

Percival sucked in a breath. 

"You know?"  

Credence looked down on the body at his feet – the one who Percival only now noticed wore a much too familiar navy blue scarf – and the boy responded, "Well considering I just killed you, I can't pretend I'm not a little surprised. Unless, of course... you've been going around letting people borrow your face again."  

Percival raised an eyebrow, alarmed by the blunt manner of speaking that he couldn't even  imagine Credence capable of.  

"Why did you kill me?" Was the next question that slipped out of Percival's lips, although it had not been the question he had intended to ask. In truth – however – Percival couldn't say he would have known what that might have been either way 

"Don't you know?" Credence shrugged, his enormous bat wings twitching with the slight motion, "I was always meant to. It was inevitable. I'm only meant for destruction Percival, and I think you always knew that."  

Percival shook his head slowly, "No, you're not. Credence, you're meant for the same thing as any other human being... to live out a human life, and everything that comes with  it."  

"But I'm  _not_ human," Credence stated matter of factly, although the eye contact he had maintained until this point suddenly dropped, "Not even by wizard standards... I'm still a freak, no matter if it's in No Maj or wizards clothing. That never changes."  

A thought occurred to Percival then, as he eyed the furry texture of the wings. Percival observed how the tips of each wing did not end in jutted points, but they instead trailed away in slender wisps of black smoke. 

"Am I really speaking to Credence right now?" Percival asked suddenly, "...Or am I talking to the obscurus?"  

"Is there really a difference?" Credence shot back, echoing the words of Percival's own phantasm.  

Percival hesitated -- more silenced by the chilling sense of déjà vu rather than for lack of an answer.  

Almost as though Credence could read his mind, the boy cocked his head and quipped, "You know, you're not the  _only_ one dealing with an identity crisis, Percival." 

Percival glared slightly  at the snarky comment, momentarily thinking this smart mouth was not a very good look on Credence – but that wasn't the important thing here.  

"There  _is_ a difference," Percival retorted almost scoldingly, "Credence Barbone is  _someone_. Someone who is kind, and polite, and forgiving, and likes white chocolate over milk chocolate and insists on making the bed every morning when I constantly tell him it doesn't matter. The obscurus is nothing but a violent parasite that will die out as soon as we can figure out how to eradicate it. Which we will, and soon."  

Credence almost looked touched by the director's speech.  

The winged boy stepped back away from the body – away from Percival – and for a fleeting second Credence seemed to be on the brink of tears. 

In the next instant however, the familiar face schooled itself back into a stoic and cold expression.  

"You don't get to tell me who I am, Percival," Credence chuckled a little, but it was a maniacal and broken sound, "Not when you can't answer the same questions for yourself. Ever since the day you took me in, you were  _always_ trying to shelter me... protect me from even the smallest of pains. For the rest of our time together you constantly tried to be my hero... to make up for what  _you_ think you did wrong."  

A crack appeared on Credence's face, and dark blood dripped out from it.  

It was as though some invisible razor had suddenly grazed the space above his jawline with a blade --- although there was nothing Percival could see that might have caused it.  

And then in other places too, more cracks and nicks began to appear.  

Percival stepped a little closer, reaching out without knowing what could be done or how to help.  

Yet Credence continued to talk without any reaction to the cracks and crevices opening over random bits of his pale skin, seeming ignorant of anything else but his frustrations either for or at the man standing in front of him. 

"Don't you see, Percival?!?" Credence half screamed the words even though Percival was only a few inches away, close to the point where he was nearly standing on top of the body between them, "In the end, it was  _you_ who needed saving... from  _me_! If you had just moved on with your life after they found you..." 

"I'd have killed myself, probably," Percival interrupted Credence abruptly, and only then did Credence halt his scolding rant, "What you've been through has been  _beyond_ horrible Credence... but trust me, I have nightmares too." 

One step closer, and neither man flinched at the fact that one chunk of Credence's jaw actually fell away... leaving behind darkness where there should have been flesh. 

"I took you in because you were always safest with me, because if Grindelwald should ever get loose, I'm probably the only one who can keep  him from you," Percival reminded them both, "...And  _yes_ , that's part of my job, I know what you're thinking... but it's also part of what's kept me going, Credence. I mean  _maybe_ it's still selfish... but regardless of my motives I know for a fact that the shit I had to go through in captivity would have driven me insane by now. But I have held on to that sanity because I know I have a responsibility to someone for now. A  _person_ , not a parasite, Credence. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't  _genuinely_ believe that you are a human being who deserves  _so_ much more."  

There was silence between them for a good few moments -- with even the fire that surrounded them completely mute where they should have crackled and whispered.  

"...And if in the end, I reward your trust with death?" Credence finally asked back in a vehement and seething tone -- blood now dripping out of both corners of his mouth, "If in the end, I destroy you like I destroyed your precious study? What then, Percival?"  

"You won't," Percival said simply as he took his final stepped forward – skipping over the corpse on the ground – and pressing up against Credence who was still in the process of literally falling apart.  

Determination fiercer than the Hand of God -- resolve more palpable than the strength of a million faceless men -- Percival lay a tender kiss to the bleeding mouth. With the distance between them closed, Percival only now noticed that the blood was black... and it probably was never blood at all.  

"You  _are_ bigger than your nightmares, Credence." Percival told him once their lips had parted, "And if I have spend every remaining breath I having proving that to you... then so be it. I would die a happy man... even if the  _only_ thing I have yet to achieve is the proof of your self worth."  

"Are you  _really_ capable of such selflessness, Percival Graves?" Credence asked -- but it no longer sounded like Credence.  

A deep and almost mechanical voice echoed from somewhere within the swirling obscurus that floated against Percival -- the obscurus that still had portions of Credence floating around it like the broken shell of an egg that had been shattered in random parts. Although the wings stayed intact -- flapping with terrifying majesty against the backdrop of the burning city and the moonless night. 

Yet Percival stayed put here he stood... unafraid and more enlightened than ever before.  

He understood, now.  

This was never about him.  

Even with the body of maybe Percival Graves at their feet – Percival realized that Credence's worst fear didn't have that much to do with him at all.  

Above all -- Credence's dreams were haunted by the same evil vision that had spooked Percival into releasing Credence in the ruins of his old study.  

A boogeyman made up of self doubt and a broken sense of identity.  

Percival reached out, and grabbed one of the last few palpable parts of Credence – a rapidly disintegrating hand – before he answered, "With  _his_ help... I think so, yes." 

And suddenly – the hand gripped Percival's hand back, it's grasp tight and desperate like it was holding on for dear life.  

The duration of a heartbeat later -- Percival realized that he and Credence were still holding hands... 

..but the hand Percival grasped was entirely solid, and they were back in his bedroom – both very much awake.  


	11. Epilogue

Credence looked over at him from atop the bed worriedly.

“Are you okay, Mr. Graves?” the boy asked quietly.

 From the window, moonlight poured in and reflected on Credence’s side profile with a ghostly glow. Percival was surprised to learn it was still evening, although it had to be at least past midnight.

“You were thrashing… bad dream?”

Percival chortled, his grip on Credence’s hand only tightening.

“Yea, Credence. Bad dream.”

Credence frowned, his expression sympathetic.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Percival smiled at Credence with appreciation and something akin to pride.

He had to admit that he had never asked Credence the same, those times where he would pull the boy out of the clawed grips of his phantasms.

Maybe if he ever had – if he had opted to sit and talk with Credence about the skeletons in his closet rather than delve into the record of his mind that played more like a horror novel than a biography – all this could have been settled some time ago.

But if there was one thing Percival Graves would take away from this, it was that there was not much point in focusing on “what ifs” and other hypotheticals.

They were here and this was now -- and there was nothing left but to look to the future.

“I’d much rather talk about you right now, my boy,” Percival crooned. He got up from his spot on the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed next to Credence.

Credence seemed surprised -- but the boy showed no sign of protest -- even scooting away a few inches to allow the older man some room.

“Wha… what would you like to talk about, Mr. Graves?” Credence asked in a confused and flustered voice.

Percival shrugged, hugging his own knees to his chest.

As the grogginess was abating, Percival realized that he was exhausted and certainly did not feel as though he had gained an ounce of sleep… let alone a full eight hours.

At the same time, he was afraid to try and sleep.

Percival could not help the irrational fear that when he shut his eyes again, he’d be greeted by Minotaurs and faceless things and Gods who knew too much.

“Have you heard from Modesty?” Percival asked abruptly, the blurted out question taking them both by surprise.

Eyebrows raised, Credence looked at Percival and then away again before he answered.

“I admit that I did look for her, Mr. Graves. A few weeks back, but…”

He trailed off... and between the two men, only one seemed to breathe in the few seconds of silence that passed before Credence finished the sentence.

“…I couldn’t find her.”

Credence fell quiet, and Percival honestly wasn’t sure if the boy was lying or not.

He wasn’t sure why Credence would hide the information necessarily, but he also acknowledged that Credence’s feelings about the issue were likely complicated, and the last thing Percival wanted to do was make the boy feel pressured and uncomfortable.

 “I see,” Percival sighed in the darkness of the bedroom, “Well if you’re ever still interested, I would help you find her. I just want you to know that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” Credence answered in a breathless and grateful voice, seemingly unquestioning of the strange and spontaneous timing of subject.

Percival moved the hand that was still intertwined with Credence’s fingers, bringing it up to touch the bony shoulder that brushed against his own.

Credence still flinched at the shift in contact at first – but almost right after Percival felt the shoulder press itself against the skin of his palm, leaning into it like savoring the comfort of a soft pillow.

“Now, let’s get back to sleep, shall we?” Percival insisted gently, slowly but firmly pushing them both down on the large mattress that had always been meant for more than one person.

Credence’s eyes widened when he realized Percival wasn’t going back to his spot on the floor, “Mr. Graves are you… should I…”

“Shhh…” Percival nuzzled his mouth against the top of Credence’s head, pulling the boy’s entire frame closer to himself, “Just…. sleep, my boy.”

“Are you sure you’re okay Mr. Graves?” came the confused, muffled question from somewhere underneath the tight hold of Percival’s arms.

He wasn’t, Percival knew.

He had done all this in a simple bid to shut Credence up and get some damn sleep, but in the end Percival knew that he had come out with the opposite:

If not a whole new reason for insomnia, at _minimum_ he had developed an inevitable dependency to sleeping potions.

Maybe he could ask someone to ascend into his own mind -- but at this point the only one Percival would allow that much discrepancy to was Credence… and Percival would be damned before he’d let Credence go through even _half_ of what he just had to experience.

For now, Percival knew that he would simply have to take the brunt of both their torments –vanquishing phantoms and dragons both nocturnal and waking.

Yet as the director felt Credence slumber serenely against him – as he savored the slow rise and fall of his soft chest, as Percival listened to the slow exhales of breath that escaped from Credence’s parted lips like soft sighs – Percival felt at least some part of that broken glass fall back into its place.

And once all the shards finally mended together – at some point in the distant future – they would reform into a much larger window… a heart shaped looking glass that was big enough to reflect both men as they truly were:

Survivors reborn with newfound purpose… and with any luck at all, somewhat more rested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the feedback and to anyone who read and enjoyed. :)

**Author's Note:**

> based on this song  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uIuEgxP2A4c
> 
> :)


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